


i must admit i thought i'd like to make you mine

by disgruntledkittenface



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Alcohol, American AU, Astrology, Captain Niall Horan, Cat Cafés, Cats, Drinking, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Falling In Love, Fluff, Girl Direction, Lawyer Louis, Louis Tomlinson Calls Harry Styles Pet Names, Meet the Family, Mention of recreational drug use, Photographer Harry, Practice Kissing, Public Display of Affection, San Francisco, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, Smut, Sophiam, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Wedding Planning, Weddings, mutual respect, older larry (if 32 and 30 are considered older), past zouis, zigi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:41:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 50,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23670064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disgruntledkittenface/pseuds/disgruntledkittenface
Summary: Louis fell apart when her ex broke up with her and moved across the country. Just as she’s starting to move on, Zayn comes back to town for their mutual friends’ wedding – with a new girlfriend as her plus one.Blindsided and scrambling to save face, Louis lets herself get talked into a fake relationship with her new friend Harry. Their arrangement makes Louis feel pathetic and embarrassed, but it’s only going to last a few weeks. She just has to get through the wedding – what could happen?
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 114
Kudos: 290
Collections: One Direction Big Bang Round 3





	i must admit i thought i'd like to make you mine

**Author's Note:**

> Here she is!! I'm so, SO excited to share this story at last!
> 
> Thank you Kim, Bookworm, Gillian, Megan, and Nic for helping me shape this into the story that I wanted to tell. I’m so grateful for your time, your enthusiasm, and your knowledge. Any remaining errors are my own.
> 
> And a special thanks to Evi for being a dream to work with and for bringing my characters to life.

“Tommo! Over here!”

Louis stops just inside the doorway and turns in the direction of the voice calling out to her, scanning the crowd for a familiar head of blonde hair. It takes longer than it should to remember that Niall is back to her natural brunette color and, from the look on her face when Louis finally spots her at a high-top table near the bar, she knows exactly what was going through Louis’ mind. Louis shrugs at her smirking friend as she winds her way through the crowd; Niall had bleached her hair for years, what did she expect?

“Louis Tomlinson, as I live and breathe,” Niall says by way of greeting, leaning against the back of her chair. “It’s been so long, I barely recognized you.”

Louis sets her briefcase on the floor and tosses her suit jacket on an empty chair, rolling her eyes and deciding against taking the bait.

“I’m gonna grab a beer,” she says, surprised to find that she doesn’t recognize anyone behind the bar. As Niall pointed out, it’s been awhile, but she didn’t think it had been long enough for the staff at their favorite place to have turned over. “Want another?”

“Please,” Niall replies, lifting her near-empty Guinness bottle in cheers. “Gonna need it to get through all the wedding talk tonight.”

Grimacing, Louis heads to the bar and orders their beers. As she waits, she concentrates on rolling up the sleeves of her plain white button-down, keeping her head down so none of their friends come over to catch up before she’s even had her first drink. She’d let herself be guilted into a night out after weeks (okay, months) of licking her wounds after her girlfriend had broken up with her and moved to New York. And out of nowhere, too, at least as far as Louis is concerned. The post-breakup fog has started to lift, but she still can’t believe Zayn just left without even asking if she wanted to come with; Louis could have studied for the bar while Zayn pursued her singing. They could have gotten a crappy studio apartment. They could have explored the city together. 

They could have been happy. 

The sound of two beer bottles being slammed on the bar in front of her jolts Louis out of her reverie. She lays down a few dollars for a tip and takes Niall’s Guinness and her Stella back to the table where Niall is draining the last few drops from her first bottle.

“So,” Louis starts, settling into the high-backed chair across the table and clinking her bottle against Niall’s, “exactly how much wedding talk have you had to endure so far?”

Niall lets out a trademark cackle and the sound is soothing to Louis’ ears as she looks around the bar again and realizes that she recognizes almost all of the patrons as either members of Liam and Sophia’s wedding party or invited guests. She couldn’t have just met up with one or two friends on her first night back out in the wild, she just had to agree to seeing everyone she knows in San Francisco all in one go. God, she’s so stupid.

“Actually, not much,” Niall says, smiling and waving at someone behind Louis. “Sophia mentioned some kind of crafting they want help with, maybe centerpieces? But then Zoe got here and distracted her so I escaped. Haven’t talked to Liam yet. Hey, Harry.”

“Niall.”

Louis has always wished her voice was lower (what she wouldn’t give to be more of a husky Demi Moore type), but for the most part she’s made peace with her slightly higher, raspy voice. Still, she can’t help but envy the deep timber of the voice reciprocating Niall’s greeting, which is followed closely by a tall woman with long, curly hair plopping down into the seat between them.

The woman turns to Louis with a shy smile, biting her lip. And Louis is sure Niall’s friend is perfectly lovely, it’s just… she barely has enough bandwidth to talk to the people here she already knows. She definitely doesn’t have the energy for the brand of small talk that comes with someone new.

Oh, well. Too late now.

“Hi, I’m Louis.” Holding out a hand to go with her introduction, Louis is left hanging for a long moment as the woman furrows her brow, the corners of her mouth turning slightly downward into a pout.

Okay, rude.

“Tommo, you idiot,” Niall scoffs, smacking Louis’ hand. “This is Harry, you’ve met Harry. She’s the wedding photographer.”

“Oops.” Louis winces. Looks like she’s the rude one. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Harry says, glancing at Niall and shaking her head slightly. “Hi, Louis. It’s nice to see you again.”

“It’s not okay,” Niall mutters under her breath before lifting her bottle to take a sip. “Jesus, Lou, you’ve met at least three times.”

Harry’s face looks downright pained at this point, so Louis flips Niall off but otherwise ignores her and focuses her attention on Harry instead. Something about this girl, the way she’s trying to deflect attention in the face of Louis’ bad manners, brings out her protective instincts.

“Can I get you a drink?” she asks, standing and pointing at the bar. “Please, it’s on me. What do you like?”

A faint blush blooms across Harry’s cheeks and she parts her lips to give her drink order.

“Oh, fuck.”

They both swivel their heads to look at Niall. She’s frozen with her beer half-lifted to her lips, her jaw suddenly slack and eyes fastened on something behind them. Louis has heard far worse and much more elaborate cursing from her friend, but not much stuns her into silence. Her curiosity piqued, she automatically turns to see whatever it is. Maybe there’s a sign about the bar no longer serving food or something. The thought makes Louis laugh as she angles her body toward the front of the room, but the sound dies on her lips when her eyes land on the doorway. 

The last person that Louis expected to see has just walked into the bar.

Zayn poses in the doorway, tossing her long black hair over one shoulder and effortlessly smoldering at the room at large. Even from a distance, Louis can tell her winged eyeliner is perfect. She shrugs out of her black leather jacket, revealing a tight black tank top that hugs her wiry frame, the deep V neckline showing off a new tattoo. The perfectly shaped, voluptuous red lipstick imprint that adorns the middle of Zayn’s chest couldn’t be further from Louis’ own thin lips if it tried. 

Oh, fuck indeed.

Louis’ entire universe has shrunk down to the lone figure of her ex-girlfriend, so she could be forgiven for failing to notice the leggy blonde sidled up next to her at first. But now that she’s had a moment to absorb the first impact, the second one hits her like a freight train. Because the two of them are clearly together, standing close at the hip with their arms linked around each other. It’s when the blonde nuzzles Zayn’s neck that Louis starts to think she might actually vomit. Projectile vomit, all over her ex and their friends in their favorite place. She’ll never live it down. Across the country won’t be far enough away, she’ll have to move to another continent.

Just as Louis starts frantically trying to recall the difference between a lawyer and a barrister (because surely she could adapt to life in London, the weather is basically the same as in Northern California, probably), Zayn locks eyes with her. To add insult to the grievous injury of showing up out of the blue looking not only gorgeous but happy, Zayn tilts her head to the side and raises her eyebrows as if to tacitly ask if Louis is okay. The shock turned panic starts to boil to a rage in her veins. Louis may not be okay, but that’s none of Zayn’s fucking business.

Not anymore. 

The burst of anger somehow clears Louis’ mind. She has her pride, she’s not just going to stand here and wait to be humiliated. 

“Drink order?” she asks, turning to Harry. “I suddenly feel like something stronger myself, how about you?”

“Jameson,” Harry answers quickly, possibly picking up on Louis’ sense of urgency. “Neat, please.”

In spite of the moment, Louis is mildly impressed. That’s a real drink, the kind her dad would say puts some hair on your chest. She nods, and heads back to the bar. If she’s going to get through this night, she’s going to need a stiff drink, and quick.

By the time she has drinks in hand, Zayn and her date are chatting with Niall as Harry looks on wordlessly. Louis squares her shoulders and approaches the table, coming up behind Harry to set her drink in front of her. Her hands aren’t shaking (thank god for small favors), but she has to force herself to look up and make eye contact with the woman who used to wake up in her arms every morning. 

The woman who’s currently wrapped around someone else.

“Hey, Lou,” Zayn says easily, like this isn’t the first time they’ve spoken in months. “Alright?”

Louis should be more prepared. She’s had months to plan out what she would say the next time she saw Zayn, has dreamed up every possible scenario from flying to New York and surprising her at one of her shows to Zayn crawling back to her and begging for forgiveness, even the two of them arguing on the street and then kissing passionately in the rain for some reason. She should have the perfectly crafted reply ready and waiting for just this occasion.

“What are you doing here?” 

The question surprises her as much it does everyone else at the table once it leaves her mouth. But she holds her head high, refusing to be embarrassed even as Niall laughs nervously. She needs to know. She deserves to know.

“The wedding,” Zayn says smoothly. “Gigi and I decided to come a few weeks early so she can get to know everyone. We’ve been FaceTiming with my family; my mom wants to teach her some recipes in person.”

Louis starts to feel like she might actually vomit again as her memories of the family dinners she’s attended with Zayn, laughing with her parents and sisters about how hopeless Louis is in the kitchen, turn from sweet to sour. Just when she’s sure that she can’t take one more second of this night that she had been dreading for all the wrong reasons it turns out, an arm slides around her waist. Louis looks down to see Harry smiling up at her.

“Thanks for the drink, Lou,” she says sweetly, pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

Louis reacts instinctively, some kind of muscle memory kicking in to make her curl her arm around Harry’s shoulders as Harry takes a dainty sip of her whiskey and looks back to Zayn. 

“Oh, sorry, Z,” Niall says suddenly, leaning forward in her seat. “You’ve met Harry, right? Louis’ girlfriend.”

“No,” Zayn murmurs, looking entirely unbothered as she strokes a hand up and down her date’s arm. “No, don’t think so. Pleasure.”

Harry giggles and hides her face in Louis’ neck. And Louis has no idea what’s going on, it feels like hours have passed since Zayn entered the bar instead of minutes and nothing is making any sense, but Harry’s rich brown curls smell faintly of lavender and she finds herself leaning farther into Harry and resting her lips against the top of her head. Harry draws back and winks at her before turning back to the table.

“Sorry, sorry,” she laughs. “It’s still new, so I love hearing that. Girlfriend.”

“Yeah, yeah, honeymoon phase,” Niall says, rolling her eyes goodnaturedly. “We get it, you’re fucking like rabbits, enough already.”

Before Louis’ brain has a chance to catch up and try to figure out what the fuck is going on, Gigi finally speaks.

“Come on, lover,” she says to Zayn, ignoring the rest of them, her voice husky and devastating. “Introduce me to the brides.”

And with that, Zayn waves at the three of them before taking Gigi’s hand and leading her off through the crowd. Niall turns to her and opens her mouth to speak, but Louis holds up a finger and checks to make sure Zayn isn’t watching before she downs her entire Long Island iced tea. 

“What the fuck,” Louis says, setting down her glass and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, “was that?”

“Just trying to help?” Niall shrugs, exchanging a glance with Harry. 

“I’m sorry.” Harry bites her lip so hard that Louis starts to worry it might bleed. “It’s just… well, you guys were together for a long time, right? And she was being so cold to you. That’s not right.”

Before Louis has a chance to scream or cry or laugh hysterically at the turn her night has taken, Liam bounds up to the table with a huge grin on her face.

“I knew it,” she exclaims, pointing at Louis. “I knew you haven’t just been busy at work, Lou! You’re such a liar.”

For someone accusing one of her oldest friends of being a liar, Liam sure looks happy about it. Needing a clue for how to respond, Louis follows the trajectory of Liam’s pointed index finger to see that Harry’s arm is still around her waist. Oh, and look at that, Louis still has her arm around Harry’s shoulders. She probably should have moved it by now.

“So,” Louis says, trying to regain some semblance of control. She fixes her gaze on Liam’s delighted face. “Zayn’s here.”

Liam’s face falls immediately, like Louis knew it would. Honestly, it’s like kicking a puppy, but she only feels a little bad about it. After all, she’s the one who just got sucker punched by her past.

“I’m sorry, Lou, I’m so sorry,” Liam says earnestly, holding her hands up as if in surrender. “I’ve been putting off telling you she RSVP’d to the wedding, but I had no idea they were coming into town early. I promise, I would have told you if I had known they would be here tonight.”

“So you knew there was a they,” Louis states flatly. “And you didn’t tell me. What the hell, Liam?”

“Hello, kettle,” Niall interrupts, gesturing toward Harry. “This is Louis, you’re black.”

Louis glares at Niall, her desire to save face at war with her need to retort that now is clearly not the time for one of her _Friends_ references. Especially when she knows damn well that Louis hasn’t been holding back anything, about anyone.

“But Louis and I just wanted a few weeks to ourselves before we told people, Ni,” Harry says smoothly, squeezing Louis’ hip. The touch is somehow instantly soothing, and Louis starts to think she might make it through the night without murdering anyone, even though the hole that she’ll eventually have to climb out of just got deeper with Harry’s flat-out lie. “It’s not really the same, is it?”

“I didn’t know until I got the RSVP for her and a plus one,” Liam says, her thick brows furrowed together in dismay. “We haven’t talked a lot since Zayn… moved. I swear, I wasn’t trying to hide anything, I just didn’t know how to tell you.” Her face brightens. “But you and Harry! This is amazing! Soph and I always thought you guys would be good together.”

“Lima Bean,” Niall says seriously, setting her elbows on the table. “Please tell me Sophia isn’t really going to make us craft for your wedding.”

As Liam starts chattering excitedly about her upcoming nuptials, Louis tunes her out and squints at Niall, trying to figure out if she’s up to something. She must really be desperate to change the subject if she deliberately brought up wedding tasks. And Niall always thinks she knows best for Louis, like Louis isn’t a fully functioning adult or something – and a full two years older. 

“Louis? Right?”

Louis blinks as she racks her brain for the last bit of the conversation, but she did too good a job of tuning it out.

“Sorry, Li, what?”

Liam sighs exaggeratedly, which Louis thinks is a tad unfair.

“Your dress,” Liam says, as if that explains everything. Seeing Louis’ surely blank expression, she exclaims, “Your bridesmaid dress! You picked something out, it’s already altered, everything is taken care of, right?” 

Oh, right. Her bridesmaid dress. For the wedding. Shit.

“Everything is taken care of,” Harry reassures Liam, squeezing Louis’ hip again. 

That’s news to Louis, but if it gets her out of this conversation, then Louis’ not going to speak up. She still can’t believe Liam knew Zayn was coming to the wedding, that she was with someone and it’s apparently already serious, and didn’t tell her. So much for loyalty. 

“Thank god,” Liam says, grinning at Harry. She wags a finger at Louis. “You almost had me there, Lou. Can you imagine? Sophia would kill me and then you and then me again if you didn’t have your dress yet, she has her heart set on the exact look for the wedding party.”

Louis manages a polite, fake laugh along with the rest of the table, wondering how the fuck she’s going to manage to find a turquoise dress with only a few weeks to look when she hasn’t shopped for a dress in years. It’s times like these when she wishes she lived closer to her family. She can manage the four-hour flight for special occasions and holidays, but not things like dress emergencies.

“Okay, I’m off,” Liam says, waving to someone by the bar. “But I want to hear everything later, okay? Every gooey, disgusting, romantic detail of you two getting together. No getting out of it, Lou!”

This time when the three of them are left alone, Louis turns to Harry, hissing, “And what the fuck was _that?”_

Harry raises her eyebrows. “What?”

“The dress, Harry,” Louis groans, rubbing her temple. “Why did you say that? Where am I going to find a turquoise dress on such short notice?”

“Oh, that. Don’t worry,” Harry says, waving her hand. “I’ll help you, I know exactly what to do.”

“Well, since my girlfriend knows what to do,” Louis replies, noticing the hysteria creeping into her voice but too far gone to do anything about it. “What the fuck, you guys, now Liam thinks we’re dating, too? This is humiliating! She’s going to know we lied, _Zayn_ is going to know we lied. I know I’ve been pathetic since she left, okay, no one needs to tell me that, but now she’s going to know and that fucking girlfriend of hers. This is my worst nightmare. I’m going to have to move. How cold does it get in London? I’m going to need to buy a coat.”

“Actually, I have an idea about that,” Niall says, a little too casually for her tone to be convincing. “You’re not going to have to move, you idiot. Why don’t you and Harry just… keep pretending to date?”

Louis rolls her eyes and finally remembers to remove her arm from around Harry’s shoulders as she sits down next to her and crosses her arms in front of her chest.

“No, I’m serious!” Niall protests, pointing at Harry. “H, you have that family party coming up, right? The one your mom’s been trying to find you a date for?”

Harry blushes beet red and nods.

“And Louis,” Niall says, turning to point at her. “You can save face while Zayn is in town, showing off what’s her name. What a piece of work, she didn’t even say two words to us while they were here.”

“Niall, that’s ridiculous,” Louis scoffs, looking to Harry for agreement. To her surprise, Harry looks more thoughtful than skeptical. “Harry?”

“Um, I mean, well… not no?” Harry stumbles, tugging her bottom lip between her thumb and finger. “It’s not… um, it’s not exactly a bad idea. I’m already going to be around for lots of the wedding stuff, Lou, and you’d really be saving my life for that party. It’s my great-aunt and uncle’s anniversary and it’s at this nice restaurant and my mom keeps texting me, like, every single day about finding a date. She asked if she could set up a Grindr account for me.”

Niall cackles at that and, despite the situation, Louis can’t help joining in.

“Stop! It’s not funny,” Harry says, looking between them. A smile twitches at the corners of her mouth as tears stream down Louis’ face from laughing so hard. “It’s not! Well, it’s not that funny.”

“I’m sorry,” Louis chokes out, wiping her cheeks with her hands. “But it really is.”

“It’s not,” Harry pouts before finally cracking and laughing along with them.

“Okay, Louis,” Niall says once they’ve calmed down. “What do you have to lose? You spend one night with Harry’s family and an open bar–” she pauses to look at Harry, who nods in confirmation “–and then you and Harry hang out a few times, at events you would both already be at anyway. You’re both tactile as fuck, you’ll probably enjoy it going by how easily you threw your arm around her earlier.”

It’s Louis’ turn to blush as Harry turns toward her with a hopeful expression.

“I know it sounds crazy,” she says, “but I don’t mind and it would help me out and…”

She looks over her shoulder and Louis follows her gaze to where Zayn and Gigi are making out in the corner.

“Yeah,” Louis says, not wanting Harry to finish her sentence as they watch Zayn’s hands slide down to Gigi’s admittedly nice ass. “Yeah.”

“So that’s a yes, then?” Niall asks, raising her eyebrows and pointing at Louis. 

Louis looks around the table, half wishing there was someone sane there to talk her out of this. There’s still time to laugh off their earlier actions, explain away the snuggle and the word ‘girlfriend’ before this gets too out of hand. But her stubborn sense of pride combined with the look on Harry’s face, the plea in her eyes that Louis is now noticing are a nice light shade of green, convinces her.

“I guess that’s a yes,” Louis says finally, lifting her glass before remembering it’s empty. “Neil, go to the bar. Let’s get drunk.”

* 

The mid-morning sun beats down as Louis walks up the last hill on her way to meet Harry. She’d woken up the day before with a massive hangover that’s still clinging to the edges of her brain and a new contact in her phone for _harrybo._ It’s been about 36 hours and the main thing Louis has learned about her fake girlfriend is that she’s much better at texting than Louis herself is: Harry is prompt to reply, generous with extra letters (Louis had counted thirteen y’s in the word “hey,” for example) and never uses periods as end punctuation, which Louis hates since it always seems abrupt. If any of this was real, Louis would count herself a lucky woman. 

But, she reminds herself, it’s not. 

Once she reaches the top of the hill, Louis slurps the last of her iced coffee and tosses the cup into a trash can. Her destination is just up ahead on the right, and she can see Harry waiting for her outside, frowning down at her phone. Louis pulls the sleeves of her Adidas hoodie down around her hands, the sight of Harry in just a t-shirt making her feel cold. She’s paired it with purple flared corduroys and black Vans and, as Louis spots when she gets closer, a simple pearl necklace. It’s a little sexy, a lot endearing and so very gay that Louis thinks if they had met under different circumstances, she probably would have noticed right away how attractive Harry is. But they didn’t meet under different circumstances, they met under these circumstances, and it doesn’t matter how attractive Harry is because in a few weeks, she and Harry won’t be cuddling in bars or having clandestine meetings to get their stories straight anymore.

Louis sighs, not sure exactly how this became her life. But seeing as how Harry has sacrificed her Sunday morning for her, it’s time to make the best of it. Hopefully with another cup of coffee to ease her headache. 

“Oi oi,” she calls out, pushing her aviators to the top of her head. “Harry!”

Harry looks up with a grin, pocketing her phone. 

“Hey, Lou,” she replies, pushing a hand through the front of her hair. “I’m so glad we’re doing this.”

Harry wraps her long arms around Louis, pulling her into a hug and swaying a couple of times before releasing her. Maybe Niall was right, they are both tactile as fuck.

“What,” Louis teases, “creating an elaborate backstory for our fake relationship?”

“Oh, um, no, not…” Harry’s grin fades as she jerks a thumb toward the building behind her. “I mean, yes, but I just meant the, um, the cat café?” 

The sparkly rainbow awning above them has the words “Glitter Cat Café” scrawled in a pretty script and through the front window, Louis can see the space inside is divided in two: one side with a coffee bar and tables, and the other with scattered pillows and blankets occupied by a variety of cats and kittens. Louis’ not sure how she missed the fact that they were going to a cat café, she thought they were just grabbing coffee, but she puts it down to attempting to communicate with anyone when she was the most hungover she’s ever been in her life. 

“Right! The cat café,” she says, looking back to Harry, who’s biting her lip. “Sorry, I just need some caffeine. Well, some more caffeine. I’m not my best in the morning.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Harry exclaims, looking distressed. She glances behind her at the cat room, where it almost looks like a group of kittens are playing tag. “I didn’t realize you weren’t a morning person! Or else I wouldn’t have made you get up early. It’s just the cats are more active if you go first thing, you know?”

“Makes sense,” Louis shrugs, although she’s never given the matter any thought. She wonders how long before she’ll have to admit to being a dog person as she holds the door open for Harry. “Shall we?”

“We shall!” Harry beams as she ducks past Louis and walks inside, making a beeline for the coffee bar where a very thin, very bored-looking woman in a threadbare t-shirt and a baseball cap sits. “Mitchell!”

“Hey, H.” 

Despite the monotone reply, Mitchell – or Mitch, as her name tag proclaims – leans over the counter to give Harry a hug. Louis can’t help laughing as Mitch tries to pull back and Harry obviously won’t let her, holding her tight for a few seconds longer as Mitch struggles. From the fond looks they exchange as they part, it seems to be a routine of theirs.

“Lou, this is Mitch,” Harry says, turning to Louis and beckoning her to join them. “And Mitch, this is Louis.”

“Louis,” Mitch says, reaching out a hand to shake over the counter. “Louis, Louis, Lou-eee.” She glances at Harry, who’s glaring at her. “The Louis?”

Louis observes the sudden weird tension between them and wonders what the big deal is. Harry must have told her friend about their arrangement, but it’s not like Louis minds. As long as Mitch doesn’t spill the beans to anyone they know in common, anyway.

“The one and only,” Louis says breezily, knocking her shoulder against Harry’s to see if she can get a smile out of her. It works. “Nice to meet you. This is, ah–” Louis looks around the empty cafe “–a nice place you’ve got here.”

“Thanks, man,” Mitch says, moving to stand behind the espresso machine. “Two iced coffees? On the house.”

“Perfect,” Harry replies, leaning against the counter. “Per-fect.”

Louis laughs. “Haven’t even seen the cats yet and you’re already purring, huh?”

Harry stands up straight, beaming, but Mitch interrupts before they get a chance to make any more puns.

“Room for cream?” Mitch asks, glancing up as Harry shakes her head and Louis nods. Then she starts pouring their drinks as Harry peppers her with questions about which cats have been adopted.

“Wait,” Louis interrupts, “so you have cats for people to adopt? Like, the cats we’re going to see, they’re up for adoption?”

“Yeah, man,” Mitch nods, sealing the lids on their large plastic cups. “We’re a non-profit, we work with a shelter to help adopt out their kitten and cat population.”

Harry takes their drinks from Mitch and turns to Louis, her chest puffed out with obvious pride.

“They’ve been open for a whole year already,” she informs Louis, handing her one of the coffees. “It’s amazing, the number varies but it’s something like at least 20 adoptions a month, right, Mitchell?”

Mitch grunts in agreement as she wipes down the bar and Louis suspects she’s losing what little interest she had in the conversation.

“Cat room’s yours, H,” Mitch says, sitting down behind the counter. “Sarah’s the volunteer on duty, but she just ran out to do an errand. Go on, Peppermint will be happy to see you.” 

Harry beams again, waggling her fingers in an adorable wave, before leading Louis to the cream and sugar station. She looks longingly toward the glass door to the cat room as Louis tries to quickly add cream to her coffee.

“All set,” she announces once her lid is firmly on. “Let’s go see this Peppermint.”

Harry grabs her hand and drags her through the café and then through the glass door. As every feline head in the room turns toward them, Harry drops Louis’ hand and rushes to sit in the middle of the floor, setting her coffee on an end table. Five or six cats swarm her and the sight is so cute that Louis is tempted to take photos. Instead she settles on the floor next to Harry and sips her coffee as she watches a gray striped kitten balance one front paw on Harry’s back and use the other to bat at her hair.

“So,” Louis says, grinning as a fat orange cat rests its head on Harry’s shoe for a nap, “which one is Peppermint, anyway?”

“I think she’s behind me,” Harry laughs, trying to turn her head far enough to see. “Is there a gray kitten playing with my hair?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis replies, reaching out to pat the kitten’s tiny head. “She’s right here, is it bothering you?”

“Nah, can’t even feel it,” Harry answers, nuzzling a small black cat. “Yes, how are _you,_ Shadow, how _are_ you, I _love_ you, yes, I _do.”_

Louis picks up a stray piece of yarn and dangles it for a fluffy white kitten, suddenly attracting three more, all identical. They’re so energetic that she has to stand and walk around the room, dragging the yarn along the floor, to make it challenging for them.

“Have you adopted any of them?” she asks, glancing up. She’d expected to see Harry focusing all of her attention on the cats crawling all over her, but instead she’s watching Louis with a fond look on her face. “How much of a cat lady are you? Tell the truth.”

“No,” she says with an exaggerated pout. “My building doesn’t allow cats. It’s really restricting my inner cat lady from coming out. So I just come here and visit.”

She grins slyly and Louis quirks a brow, not knowing Harry well enough to know what’s about to come next.

“I have to get my pussy fix somehow, you know?”

“Harold!” Louis is scandalized, clutching her metaphorical pearls as Harry just sits there in her strand of pearls and blinks, smiling innocently. No, Louis is delighted. 

And Harry is… maybe not what Louis expected. She doesn’t remember much from the other night, hence the contact name in her phone that she couldn’t explain if her life depended on it, but the impression she’s had so far of Harry is… well, nice. A people pleaser. Maybe someone to take care of, watch out for. But she must have layers, and Louis has just uncovered the wicked sense of humor one that conveniently matches her own. She wonders what else is in store for her today.

“I guess I should have expected that,” Louis laughs, abandoning the yarn to sit next to Harry again. “A couple of lesbians in a cat café, of course someone was going to make a joke about pussy.”

“Oh,” Harry says, her voice a bit strangled. She clears her throat. “I actually don’t, um, use labels. Myself. Like, I do date women, but I’m not–”

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Louis rushes to apologize, resting her hand on Harry’s knee. “I can’t believe I just assumed.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Harry says quietly, and Louis winces, suspecting it’s not actually fine, as Harry continues, “That’s something you should know, though, if we’re, um… doing this. You know?”

And that snaps Louis back to reality. They’re not actually bonding, the point of this coffee date isn’t to organically get to know each other or be honest and vulnerable the way it was starting to feel. 

They’re here to concoct a story. 

“Right,” Louis says, pulling her hand back. Jesus, this is all so embarrassing. “Right. So, um… how do we start? Like–”

“How about how we met?” Harry suggests, cradling Shadow in one arm as she picks up her iced coffee. “We could always say it was at Niall’s New Year’s Eve party.”

“Okay,” Louis nods, “but just out of curiosity, why then?”

“Oh, well…” Harry blushes. “That’s actually, uh, when we first met.” 

“No,” Louis gasps, widening her eyes. “Shit, really?”

“It’s fine,” Harry says again, even though it’s so obviously not fine by the way she doesn’t meet Louis’ eyes. “Everyone was so drunk, I’m surprised I even remember.”

Yes, Louis had been very drunk indeed at that party. After almost two years together, Zayn had picked up and left a few weeks before Christmas and, coincidentally enough, Louis’ birthday. She’d barely gotten through closing out the year at work, doing what she could on auto-pilot before she’d flown home to Houston. That week, Louis had basically lived on the couch in the TV room in the house she grew up in, cuddled by her sisters while their mom made endless mugs of hot chocolate for them. Louis had come home five pounds heavier and feeling just as lost, only agreeing to the New Year’s party because Liam showed up on her doorstep and demanded that she shower and get dressed. The photos in Niall’s Facebook album are the only images she can conjure up of that night. 

“Did we talk?” Louis asks, not sure if she actually wants to know. She probably cried about her breakup all night.

“Just like,” Harry says, pausing and waves a hand around, “a bit, it’s not like we kissed at midnight and you forgot or something.”

Oh god, that was way too specific. She bends her head, letting the longer piece of her hair at the front slip over her face so she can peek up at Harry through it. Getting blackout drunk aside, it doesn’t seem possible that Louis would kiss those dark pink lips and forget. 

“I figure we can say I got your number from Niall,” Harry continues, stroking a hand over Shadow’s black fur. “Since she’s the only one who knows about this. And then because we have so many friends in common, we say we decided to keep it to ourselves for a while, since–”

“They have a habit of being, let’s say…” Louis taps her chin, pretending to think. “Interfering? No, overbearing? Utterly lacking in the concept of boundaries?”

“Maybe overly involved,” Harry says, giggling. She nudges her foot against Louis. “So we can say that’s why we played it cool at the couples shower last month.”

“You were at the–”

“And that’s why we haven’t followed each other anywhere online yet,” Harry finishes smoothly, as if Louis hadn’t spoken.

“Smart,” Louis says, following Harry’s cue and pulling her phone out. “Should probably do that now, huh?”

“Now that the cat’s out of the bag?”

Louis groans before laughing in spite of herself.

“Yes, Harold,” she says, holding her phone out for Harry to take. “Come on, switch with me, easier that way.”

Harry swaps phones with Louis and they spend a couple of minutes following each other on Instagram (the most important, they agree), Facebook (a necessary evil), and Twitter. Harry’s profile is pretty stark, comprised of sporadic song lyrics mixed with the odd one-word tweet here and there. “Burgers.” is Louis’ favorite of those. She makes a mental note to go back and read the lyric tweets more closely; she should be at least a little familiar with Harry’s taste in music. 

Their hands brush as they trade phones back and Louis is struck by how warm Harry’s skin is. She’s the polar opposite of Louis, who tends to run cold and whine about it.

“Okay,” Harry says, sitting up straight. “We know how we met, we know why we didn’t tell anyone before the other night, we’re connected online. Maybe you should look through your texts with Liam just to make sure there’s nothing that we can’t explain away.”

Louis whistles. “You’re weirdly good at this.”

Harry ducks her head and blushes.

“I have this friend,” she starts to explain, reaching out to pet the head of a cat crawling up her leg. “She’s a professional bridesmaid–”

“A professional what?” Louis interrupts, looking up from her phone.

“Bridesmaid,” Harry repeats, biting back a grin. “It’s this weird niche in the wedding industry, some people don’t have a lot of close friends when they get married or they want someone to act as a buffer between them and their mom or sister or, well, there are lots of reasons, I think. Anyway, the brides don’t always want people to know that they hired her, so she has to make sure her story is airtight.”

“And you learned a thing or two from her?”

“Yup,” Harry replies with a crooked grin, looking pleased with herself.

“I’m impressed,” Louis says honestly, tossing her phone on the table. “And I don’t think anything’s going to crop up with Liam. It’s embarrassing how much of that thread is just me brushing her off. I’m surprised she hasn’t given up on me.”

“How long have you been friends?” Harry asks, nudging her foot against Louis’ again until Louis looks up. “Since college?”

“Junior high,” Louis answers, images of the two of them with bad skin and braces flooding her mind. “Then high school. We went to different colleges but we never lost touch, and then we both ended up out here and, well, the rest is history.”

“See, Lou,” Harry says, picking a kitten up and plopping it in Louis’ lap. “A friend like that wouldn’t give up on you for having a rough couple of months.” 

“Liam is good people,” Louis agrees, letting the kitten in her lap gnaw on one of her fingers. “I should feel worse about lying to – oh, fuck, that hurts!”

Harry barks a loud laugh and then claps a hand over her mouth.

“Their teeth are like little needles at that age,” she says, a faint blush on her cheeks. “So, um, okay… we have the bachelorette party and then the wedding weekend. I’ll forward you an email with all the details for my family party on the 28th. But maybe we should… hang out a few times before that stuff? Like with a group, I mean – to, like, establish things?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, grabbing her iced coffee before a Siamese cat who’s eyeing it can knock it over. “That’s a good idea. And spending time with you isn’t exactly a hardship.”

That earns Louis the grin she was hoping for. Her eyes flick down to Harry’s mouth and she thinks again how she’s sure she would remember kissing her. The sight of Harry’s tongue darting out to wet her lower lip causes Louis to quickly avert her eyes, the moment feeling too intimate, too something, to let it continue.

Harry usually speaks kind of slowly, Louis has noticed, and that would normally make her a little crazy – she’s never been known for her patience – but she honestly doesn’t mind the extra time it takes Harry to get her words out. The next time Harry speaks, her deep voice comes out even more slowly, like the last bit of honey drizzling out from the bear-shaped container.

“The last thing, I think, um, we should probably talk about now, while it’s just the two of us… well, like Niall said, we’re both pretty tactile, so hopefully stuff like having our arms around each other is okay with you, I mean, I usually do that with my friends anyway, but, um, what were you thinking when it comes to like… more than that?”

“Like what?” Louis asks after a moment, feeling almost like she’s in a trance. It’s not her fault, that slow honey-whiskey voice is hypnotizing. She could probably listen to it for hours. Harry should have a podcast. About… something. Anything. 

“Like kissing.”

“Kissing,” Louis repeats, aiming for nonchalant and missing it by at least a mile. She winces at the high-pitched panic in her voice, and clears her throat. “Kissing. Kissing?”

“Kissing,” Harry repeats, her own confidence seemingly bolstered by Louis’ lack of it. She reaches a hand out and squeezes Louis.’ “We don’t have to you if you’re not comfortable, I just wanted to see what you were thinking while we didn’t have an audience.” She looks around the room full of cats. “Well, of people anyway.”

“Kissing,” Louis says again, like it’s the only word in the English language she knows or something. She should have thought of this sooner, it shouldn’t be catching her so off guard seeing as how she’s already agreed to fake a relationship for fuck’s sake. “Do you, um… what do you think?”

“I think it’ll be more convincing,” Harry says, shrugging like this is no big deal. But the faint blush on her cheeks is back and traveling down her long neck, and Louis can see the way she’s fidgeting with her hands and trying to hide it behind the cat in her lap. “But, um, only if you’re comfortable.”

“You have a point,” Louis concedes. She decides to take charge; it’s just kissing after all, and it’s generous of Harry to offer even though the idea is clearly starting to make her nervous. “Should we, uh, practice? Like, without a human audience?”

“Probably a good idea,” Harry mumbles, scooting a couple of inches closer.

Jesus, they’re acting like middle schoolers playing their first game of Spin the Bottle. She and Harry are both grown adults, who’ve no doubt kissed plenty of frogs – so a couple of platonic kisses between new friends shouldn’t be a big deal. It’ll be like kissing the back of her hand, Louis is sure of it. 

She and Harry lean in at the same time and their lips just barely brush together. Before Louis has a chance to process it, she finds herself leaning in and capturing Harry’s lips again. The kiss is less tentative this time, but still gentle, and Harry sighs, parting her lips. Her hand drifts up to caress Louis’ cheek, but she doesn’t make a move to take it further than that, leaving it up to Louis, which is just… decent. Louis can’t believe she’s forgotten meeting this lovely human, and on more than one occasion.

The plaintive sounds of cats trying to recapture their attention fade away as Louis traces her tongue along Harry’s bottom lip before sliding it inside her mouth. Their tongues meet and dance together and if Louis was expecting this to be awkward, she would have been wrong. It turns out they didn’t even need the practice; they instinctively move together like they’ve been making out for years. It’s the most natural first kiss Louis has ever had. She might be willing to bet it’s the most natural first kiss anyone has ever had.

Harry pulls back first, but not before giving Louis one last chaste peck. And Louis might be in trouble. She watches Harry adjust her necklace, sliding the clasp to the back of her neck, and counts three – no, four – cats crawling all over her. Her face is still flushed and her curls are a bit wild. When she throws a smile at Louis, it takes all of Louis’ willpower to stop herself from pressing her finger against Harry’s dimple. After she manages a smile back, Louis takes a long sip of her iced coffee, trying to gather her thoughts.

Okay, Harry is an objectively beautiful woman. Anyone can see that. She and Louis happen to have similar kissing styles. No big deal, the odds of that were fairly good. And she has several (several!) adorable kittens all over her – Peppermint will not give up on batting her hair, even though she keeps slowly blinking as though she might fall asleep at any moment. Louis would have to be a robot not to have felt anything during that kiss. That’s all it was, this damn cat café. 

No wonder Louis is a dog person. 

“So…” Harry says, her voice an octave lower than usual. 

But that doesn’t mean anything either. This situation is just weird. That’s all.

“So, it looks like we’ve got all our bases covered,” Louis says, unlocking her phone to check the time. Wait. Maybe there is one more thing. “Harry?”

“Yeah, Lou?”

“Our, like, time slot isn’t up yet, is it? In the cat room?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Harry says, glancing over her shoulder. 

The café side is still empty and it looks like Mitch is asleep at the counter. 

“I guess most people are too hungover on Sunday morning for cat cafés,” Harry shrugs. She jumps as a tiny kitten, who can’t be more than a few months old, suddenly pounces on her knee. 

“Maybe I could do some Insta stories while we finish our coffee?” Louis asks, holding her phone up. “Now that we’ve ‘gone public’ or whatever, it would make sense to start showing up on each other’s socials.”

“Good idea,” Harry says more to her lap than to Louis. She glances up with a shy smile. “Go for it.”

And if Louis’ Insta stories happen to feature a smiling and laughing Harry more than the cats who are crawling all over her, well, that’s to be expected. And if Louis saves the stories as a highlight so they don’t disappear after 24 hours, that’s to be expected too, probably. Harry’s supposed to be her girlfriend. She’s just trying to make it convincing. 

It’s not her fault if Harry happens to make it easy.

*

The door to Louis’ office is always open. Not just figuratively, she never actually closes it since it makes her life easier if her coworkers come to her before questions or concerns turn into actual problems. And despite her post-breakup hibernation, Louis does actually like being around people. In the short run, however, she’s kicking herself for the policy as she tries to tune out the decade-old, wheezing paper shredder across the hall and the chatty clique of paralegals gathered outside the conference room. 

She’s just putting the finishing touches on an email to a client when her phone buzzes. After one last read through to check for typos, she hits send and then stretches her arms over her head. It’s been a long day and she’s glad for the blinking notification light as an excuse for a short break.

That is, until she unlocks her phone and sees the text from Liam asking for a photo of her in her bridesmaid dress. Oh, fuck. With everything going on, Louis had almost managed to forget about the dress. Harry had promised to come through for her, but they’re not going shopping until the next day. Louis smooths her hair over her forehead, wondering how she’s going to stall her tenacious best friend.

This sucks. Even though Liam hurt her feelings by not telling her about Zayn’s RSVP or her tall blonde plus one, Louis hates lying to her more than she expected to. Not about a stupid dress – even if she and Zayn were still together, Louis probably would have been in the same situation, scrambling for a dress last minute. No, she hates lying about Harry. She’d recited their agreed-upon story to Liam over the phone the other night (sure she’d fuck it up in person), and after a couple of minutes of trying to sound stern over how Louis hadn’t told her earlier, Liam had just sounded so happy for her. For them. Apparently she and Sophia really have talked about how good she and Harry would be together. 

And the worst part of this bizarre situation she’s found herself in is that all of their friends think Louis is happy in a new relationship, too, so none of them are hiding how apparently ecstatic they are to have Zayn back in town, posting photos with her and Gigi all week. And Louis doesn’t even have anyone to vent to about it except for Niall, since she’s the only one who knows what a fraud Louis is. Niall and her bright ideas, this is all her fault.

That’s it. Niall. 

Louis picks up her extension and dials Niall’s work number, one of the few she has memorized. After a quick, friendly greeting, Niall’s assistant puts her on hold and the tinny sound of muzak fills the line. The tune is familiar, but it takes Louis a full minute to place it as an old Coldplay song that Zayn used to love even though she’d rather take a bullet than admit to it in front of her fellow singer-songwriter friends.

Louis groans, burying her face in her hands as a fresh wave of embarrassment crashes over her. Just that morning, she’d spotted Zayn at the coffee shop on her way to work. It figures, that used to be their coffee shop. It wasn’t until Louis saw Zayn at the counter that she realized she’d just been starting to think of it as hers. Like the mature, rational adult she is, she’d turned and ducked out the doorway, preferring the crappy coffee in the breakroom at work to small talk with her ex who hadn’t even had the decency to pretend to feel awkward around her the one time they’d seen each other.

“Tommo!” Niall’s booming voice finally greets her. “What’s up?”

“Neil, you have to help me,” Louis says without preamble. There’s no time to waste, this is urgent. “Liam asked me to send a pic of my bridesmaid dress.”

“So the problem is…”

“So,” Louis hisses, “the problem is I don’t have it yet. I’m meeting Harry to go shopping tomorrow on my lunch break. Apparently the store she knows is pretty close to my office.” 

“Harry is the best,” Niall remarks, like this isn’t a matter of life or death. “You don’t deserve her.”

“I don’t have her,” Louis reminds her. “Tell me what to do, how can I stall Liam for a whole twenty-four hours?”

“Easy,” Niall says confidently. “Just say you’re picking it up from the tailor tomorrow. Tell her Harry thought it needed hemming or something.”

Louis tilts her head to balance the phone on her shoulder as she picks up her cell phone.

“Okay, yeah, that’s good. Hang on, I’m going to reply while you’re on the phone.”

As Niall laughs on the other end of the line, Louis painstakingly taps out a reply. Before sending, she reads it aloud to Niall.

“‘I can send tomorrow when we get it from the tailor. Harry thought it needed hemming or something.’ That? How’s that? The ‘or something’ actually sells it, don’t you think? Liam knows I don’t know shit about tailoring dresses.”

“Perfect. Send it.”

Louis presses send, about to lock her phone and toss it far enough away that she can’t see Liam’s reply when a text comes through from Harry.

**_see you tomorrow at 1! can’t waiiiit!_ **

Louis hangs up on Niall and lifts her cell phone up, looking at the contact photo she’d saved after the cat café – a picture of Harry holding Peppermint up and kissing her nose. It’s all part of the story; she’d only saved it for when people could see her phone screen. Sighing, Louis pulls open her top desk drawer and drops her phone in it. She needs to concentrate. Right now, on work. Tomorrow, on getting a dress. And after that, she just needs to get through this wedding. She doesn’t have the energy for anything else. Or anyone.

*

Louis is late. 

In her defense, she’s always late. But she’s been running behind all day after a meeting with the partners was added to her morning schedule, one that she didn’t even need to attend but knew she wouldn’t be able to get out of. So now she’s rushing on her way to meet Harry, grumpy and hungry and all out of sorts. And she has to try on dresses, which she hates. If Liam and Sophia both get to wear pants to the wedding, then Louis should be able to, too.

The things she does for her friends, honestly. Louis is such a good person. 

The sight that greets her as she approaches the store is remarkably similar to the other day. Harry is waiting for her outside, frowning down at the phone in her hand. There’s a little crease between her furrowed eyebrows, which melts away when she glances up and sees Louis. Her whole face brightens as she stands up straight and slips the phone into the pocket of her denim jumpsuit. The tension in Louis’ shoulders eases and she finds herself beaming back. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

“Hi, Lou!” Harry greets her, stepping back and holding the door open. “Come on, I want you to meet a friend of mine.”

“I’m so sorry,” Louis says, looking back at Harry over her shoulder as she walks inside. “I had this meeting, and then everything after that got shifted an hour and–”

“It’s okay,” Harry interrupts, putting her hands on Louis’ shoulders and squeezing lightly before steering her toward the counter in the middle of the store. “I got your text, I get it. Shit happens.”

A petite platinum blonde sitting behind the counter watches them approach with apparent interest. Grinning, she stands and puts her hands on her hips.

“Harry,” she says appreciatively, looking her up and down. “Damn, girl. You look shit hot.”

Louis follows the woman’s gaze and finds she has to agree. The jumpsuit clings to every curve on Harry’s lithe figure, and she’s left the zipper far down enough to show off the cross necklace that Louis has noticed she always wears. Louis doesn’t mind the casual suits she wears to work, but it must be nice to dress however you want throughout the work week.

“You do,” Louis agrees, bumping her shoulder against Harry’s. “Shit hot. I feel underdressed.”

“Thanks,” Harry blushes. She gestures toward the blonde. “Lou, this is my friend Bebe, her family owns the store. Bebe, this is Louis.”

“Ah, so this is Louis,” Bebe says, her look up and down more appraising this time. She holds a hand out for Louis to shake. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“You too,” Louis says, taking her hand and glancing at Harry. "Finally."

"Look at her blush, she's so cute!" Bebe says, clapping her hands together. "She's told me so much about you, Louis, she's so smitten."

"Stop," Harry murmurs, raking a hand through her curls. "You're so embarrassing, oh my god."

Louis laughs and winds her arm around Harry's waist. 

"You _are_ cute," she says, falling into her role more naturally than she expected. Turning back to Bebe, she asks, “So, how long have you and Harry been friends?”

“Oh, we go way back,” Bebe says, walking around the counter to stand with them. “Perk of being in the industry, you get to know people, help each other out. See, I set out Harry’s cards on the counter, and then she recommends the store when she can. But lucky for her, I happen to like pouty air signs, so we’re actually friends.”

“Hey,” Harry whines, drawing the word out as much in her speaking voice as she does via text. Louis can practically picture all thirteen y’s. “I thought Virgos were supposed to be sweet.”

Bebe laughs. “I’m the sweetest bitch you know!”

“True,” Harry grins, glancing at Louis. “Okay, Lou, you’re probably in a rush to get back, right?”

Louis nods regretfully. She’d love to stay and listen to Harry and Bebe banter, but she has a lot to get through this afternoon.

“So, you’re looking for the infinity dress?” Bebe asks Harry, who nods. “Full length or knee?”

“I think knee,” Harry answers, turning to consult Louis. “I mean, it’s not black tie or anything, right?”

Bebe doesn’t wait for Louis to chime in, striding toward the corner of the store. She looks back over her shoulder, calling out, “Color?”

“Turquoise,” Harry calls back before turning back to Louis. “Right, Lou?” 

“Unfortunately, that is correct,” Louis says, following Harry over to the corner, where Bebe is rifling through a rack of dresses. 

“Here we go,” she announces, brandishing a hanger with a light blue-green dress. “This should fit you, I have a good eye, but just holler if you need another size, okay?”

“Thanks,” Harry says cheerfully, taking the hanger and leaning in to smack a kiss to Bebe’s cheek.

“Harry!” Bebe squeals, ducking away. “Not in front of your girl, she’ll get the wrong idea!”

As Bebe walks through the clothing racks and out of earshot, Harry bites her lip and looks up at Louis through her eyelashes. 

“Sorry, was that weird?” she asks, leaning in close. “I guess I figured the less people who knew we aren’t really together, the better.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, no, that’s fine,” Louis says in a rush to reassure her, stumbling over the words only a little. “Good practice, right?"

“Yeah,” Harry mutters, ruffling her hair and glancing to the counter where Bebe’s red-painted lips are curled in a knowing smirk. "Yeah, that's what I was thinking." 

“Yeah, definitely,” Louis says. They stand in awkward silence for a moment before Louis finally thinks of something to say. “Where are the, uh, dressing rooms?”

“Right! Over here,” Harry says, beckoning Louis to follow her to a long hallway lined with dressing rooms on either side that ends with a three-sided mirror in front of a small platform. “Here, let’s take that last one so we’re close to the mirror.”

When they reach the dressing room, Harry hands her the hanger before dragging a chair from an empty room into the hallway. Louis closes the curtain behind her and hangs the dress on a hook. She squints at it as she takes off her jacket and then kicks off her shoes, unsure how the top is supposed to work. The flimsy fabric must tie together somehow. 

“So I never got the full story on the bridesmaid dresses,” Harry says from the other side of the curtain. “Is everyone wearing the same color? Turquoise?” 

“No, no,” Louis calls out, shimmying out of her work pants and tossing them on the ground. “Everyone gets a different color, then we all get to pick whatever dress we want.” She laughs. “I use the term ‘want’ very loosely, I haven’t worn a dress in years.”

“And they won’t let you wear pants? Rude.”

“I know! Thank you,” Louis exclaims, unbuttoning her blouse. “And Liam and Sophia are both wearing pants. They’re each doing a version of, like, the classic black tux and then we all have to wear dresses.”

“What are the other colors? Like, what really goes with turquoise?”

“So, there are eight bridesmaids, right? And the original pride flag, you know from the ’70s, had eight colors. They only went down to six so it could be mass produced…” 

Louis catches a glance of her reflection in the dressing room mirror and realizes she probably should have worn a different bra for this. Ugh, shopping. 

“Oh, I love that. You guys are each going to be in a different color from the flag?”

“Yeah, just to make sure absolutely no one forgets for one second that this is a gay wedding.”

“Louis!”

She laughs at Harry’s indignant exclamation as she takes the dress off the hanger.

“I’m kidding! Obviously,” she says as she steps inside the skirt. “Mostly kidding, anyway.”

“Why did you pick turquoise?” Harry asks. She sounds like she’s frowning; Louis can practically see the crease between her eyebrows. “You’d look so good in indigo, or I bet you’re one of those people who can pull off yellow. Turquoise seems kind of–”

“Random? I know.” Louis struggles to hold the material over her torso and do the zipper at the same time. She prays that she doesn’t start sweating. “So, Liam and Sophia’s sisters got first dibs on the colors, which, okay, that’s fair. Then for the rest of us – oh, fuck.”

“You okay in there?”

“Yeah, it’s just this fucking zipper.” Louis manages to get the fabric unsnagged from the zipper, and continues, “So it was like a military operation or something, trying to get the rest of the color configuration right so everyone would be happy.”

“Why’s that?”

“So you know Niall, right? Ms. Serial Monogamist.”

“No...”

“Yes. Three of her exes are in the wedding, Harold. Three.”

“You’re kidding! Which ones? Wait, okay, I know Barbara–”

“Barbara, Selena _and_ Hailee. And I love all of them, I do, but it was a nightmare sorting out who can stand next to who.”

Harry laughs, and they fall silent as Louis concentrates on getting the zipper up.

“I knew you wouldn’t pick turquoise.”

Louis stiffens at Harry’s muttered words, so quiet that she’s not sure Harry intended for her to hear them. She’s right, of course. It’s the last color she would have picked, actually. Turning to the mirror, Louis’ shoulders slump as she realizes she’s never going to figure out how the top works. This dress should come with an instruction manual. 

She needs help.

“I do look good in yellow, for the record,” Louis says, gathering the flaps of material that are supposed to make up the top of the dress and turning to draw back the curtain. “And I kind of like the meaning too, sunshine? All the colors have meanings, you know? Turquoise is–”

“Magic."

Their eyes meet and for one breathless moment, Louis’ brain shorts out and she thinks that Harry is paying her a compliment. But then a silky strap slips through her fingers and Harry stands, gesturing toward the platform in front of the mirror. 

“Come here,” Harry says, waving her over. “Let me help with the strap.”

“Right, yeah,” Louis murmurs, stepping onto the platform. Of course Harry knows her history, that’s all. The turquoise meaning _is_ magic. She clears her throat. “Yeah, couldn’t really figure it out. This thing should come with an instruction manual.”

“Actually, it should,” Harry laughs, rearranging the material that Louis had been clasping against her skin. “It’s an infinity dress, they call it that because you can wear it a few different ways. Perfect for bridesmaids.”

As Harry’s deft fingers work their magic, Louis watches the dress transform into a sleek one-shoulder in the mirror. Harry looks up, considering Louis’ reflection.

“I like this,” she says, tilting her head. “It’s classic, simple. But let’s try a couple more styles, just so you can see, okay?”

“Fine,” Louis sighs. She hates shopping. Thank god she can do so much of it online these days. “Do your worst.”

Harry drapes the fabric and ties it together five different ways. _Five._ It takes forever and when she gets to the style that’s basically the same one-shoulder but with a bit of fabric fashioned as a choker, Louis is sure that she’s just fucking with her. But, Louis begrudgingly has to admit, Harry makes it fun, tickling her side just when she’s about to start complaining and keeping up a running commentary of how flattering each style is. Harry likes the strapless sweetheart neckline on her, but they agree that the simple one-shoulder suits her the best and Harry rearranges the top one last time as Louis huffs long-suffering sighs.

“We had to be sure, Lou,” she reminds her for the umpteenth time as she smooths the tie by Louis’ waist. “Okay, where’s your phone? I’ll take a few photos for Liam, she and Sophia will love you in this.”

“I think it’s still in my pants pocket,” Louis replies, twisting around to look at the dressing room. “Sorry, I can get it.”

“No, no, I got it!”

Harry rummages through the pockets before folding Louis’ pants and setting them on the chair in the dressing room while Louis stands on the platform, frowning at her reflection in the mirror. 

“Turn and face me,” she says, walking backward down the hallway with her eyes on Louis’ phone. “I just have to frame the shot… Here!” She comes to a sudden stop a few feet away. “Okay, I’ve got a good angle but the lighting in here is terrible so don’t blame me if it doesn’t turn out great. And don’t tell Bebe I said that.”

Louis spies Bebe standing at the end of the hallway with her arms crossed over her chest and smiles. “Tell Bebe you said what?” she asks innocently.

“Don’t tell her I said the lighting is bad,” Harry repeats, looking up from the phone. From the way her jaw drops, Louis thinks she just spotted Bebe in the mirror.

“I think I like this one, H. Better hold on to her,” Bebe smirks as she saunters over to Harry’s side. She nods at Louis before turning to Harry and elbowing her. “And tell my dad the lighting is bad, he never listens to me.”

“It’s not that bad,” Harry says apologetically, before tossing an exasperated glance at Louis.

“Yeah, yeah, just take the picture. Your girl looks great.” Bebe pats Harry’s shoulder. “I’ll meet you guys at the register, okay? No funny business in the dressing rooms!”

To Louis’ utter delight, Harry blushes furiously. 

“Oh my god,” Louis laughs. “Have you hooked up with anyone here?”

“No! Not… here,” Harry says, toying with Louis’ phone. “But, like, other… places. A couple of dressing rooms, maybe a few club bathrooms. Nothing too crazy.”

“What is it,” Louis asks, suddenly curious. She’s not strictly vanilla, but she’s never had sex in public. “Like… the risk of getting caught?”

“Yeah,” Harry shrugs, like it’s no big deal. And it’s not really, it was just unexpected. Another one of Harry’s layers that Louis is uncovering. “I don’t know, it’s hot.”

“You know, I thought you were kind of shy the first time we met,” Louis remarks, thinking back to that night. “I mean, that night at the bar. But you’re not really, or maybe not when you get to know someone?”

“Yeah.” Harry smiles and bites her lip, as if to contain it. “Yeah, exactly.”

Louis’ phone buzzes in Harry’s hands, startling them both. Harry squints at the screen and looks up.

“It’s a calendar notification, you have a meeting–”

“Shit, I do have a meeting. I have to–”

“Here, let me take a couple photos. I can take the dress to Bebe to ring up while you get dressed, okay?”

“Thanks, Harry,” Louis sighs, standing straight and putting a hand on her hip the way her sisters always tell her to when they take photos together. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“No problem,” Harry says, lifting the phone and starting to snap photos. “You do look great, you know. How do you feel in it?”

“About as good as you can expect a soft butch to feel in a turquoise bridemaid dress, I guess.”

“See,” Harry says, offering Louis her phone with a wink. “I told you I’d take care of you.”

“You did,” Louis laughs, flicking through the photos to choose one to send to Liam. “Hey, what do you think of this one?”

Harry slings her arm around Louis’ shoulder as she looks down at the phone. “Perfect. Now hurry up, we have to get you back to the office.”

“Thanks, Harry,” Louis says, pressing send without bothering to type a message to go along with the photo. “Really.”

“You’re welcome,” Harry says, squeezing Louis’ shoulder. “Really.”

“No, like…”

Louis smooths the front of her hair with her fingers as she watches Harry walk backward down the hallway. She bumps into a chair, but manages to right herself before she falls, the grin on her face only fading momentarily.

“Harold, be careful,” Louis admonishes, wishing the words were coming to her more easily. It’s just that Harry is doing so much for her, and Louis knows it’s not just because she’s going to attend her family party. She’s just, like, a genuinely kind person. “Just, thanks for everything. For all of it. Really.”

“Lou,” Harry says seriously, pausing in her path of backwards destruction. “You’re welcome. Really.”

Louis’ phone buzzes in her hands, but she can’t tear her eyes away from Harry to see whether it’s a reply from Liam or another calendar notification. Shit, she really does need to go.

“Go on, go get changed. I’ll meet you out there.”

With that, Harry turns and walks down the rest of the hallway. Louis’ last thought as she turns to the dressing room and her phone starts buzzing incessantly is that Bebe was definitely right: Harry does look hot in that jumpsuit. 

* 

It’s Saturday night and Louis is at loose ends. Bored out of her mind, more like it. She’d spent most of the morning and some of the afternoon texting with Harry after they’d exchanged Netflix passwords and gone through each other’s queues. As the oldest of five sisters, Louis is no stranger to romantic comedies but Harry’s interest borders on obsession, frankly. Louis had gotten an earful (well, a screenful) about the state of the genre before she’d finished her first cup of coffee. It had taken a while, but she’d managed to cajole Harry into watching one of her true crime shows by promising to answer the phone that night if Harry had a nightmare. 

But then Harry had to get ready for work, there’s a wedding downtown tonight that won’t photograph itself as she had put it, leaving Louis with nothing to entertain her. For the past few months, Louis has filled her empty hours at home by herself, under a blanket, with shitty reality TV to keep her company. But that’s not cutting it tonight. 

Luckily Liam had been in the same boat, home alone while Sophia went out with her sister. Judging by her texts, Liam had been thrilled to get a spontaneous invitation over and she’d offered to stop for beer and tortilla chips on her way, making Louis wonder why she’d started hibernating in the first place when she could have been having free snacks this whole time.

And, she thinks as she opens the door to see Liam’s wide grin, the company’s not so bad either.

“Lou-bear,” Liam exclaims, sweeping Louis into a one-armed hug as soon as she enters the apartment. “I’m so glad we’re doing this! We haven’t hung out, just us, in forever.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis grumbles goodnaturedly, relieving Liam of the paper grocery bag in her hands. “I know, I haven’t been around much for a couple months.”

“No, longer than that,” Liam insists, following Louis to the couch. “I mean, just the two of us, no girlfriends. I only ever saw you with Zayn for awhile there.”

“Really?” Louis asks, opening the bag of chips. “I guess, yeah. But all four of us were friends, it’s not like Zayn and I were codependent or anything like that.”

Liam raises her thick eyebrows.

“What? We weren’t!”

“Maybe just a little,” Liam says, holding her thumb and index finger an inch apart to demonstrate. “Well, you were. Zayn would go out by herself more than you did, like if you were working late or out of town.”

Louis sits back on the couch, cracking open a beer as she digests that information. As much as her instinct is to deny it, looking back she thinks Liam might have a point. She can’t remember the last time Liam came over, just by herself, to drink beer with her even though they used to do this all the time (although when they were kids, it was Dr. Pepper instead of beer). But that’s normal when you have a girlfriend, and everyone gets along, you go out with friends together. 

Right?

“So things are different with Harry, huh?” Liam asks, nudging Louis’ arm. “She’s great. I know we’re still getting to know her, but Soph and I really like her.”

“She is great,” Louis says honestly. “She’s just, like, decent. You know? And generous. And her jokes are so bad, like the worst puns and dad jokes you’ve ever heard, but I always end up laughing at them.” 

“Aw, Lou Lou,” Liam coos, poking her cheek. “She’s gorgeous, too, but don’t tell my fiance that I said so.”

Images of Harry biting her dark pink lower lip with her two front bunny teeth flood Louis’ mind and she smiles. Liam’s right; objectively speaking, Harry is a gorgeous woman. Anyone would agree.

“You know, this place looks exactly the same,” Liam says, looking around the living room. She furrows her brow. “There’s, like, no sign of her here. Do you spend more time at her place or something?”

Louis’ nervous laugh sounds high-pitched and fake to her own ears, but Liam doesn’t seem to notice, idly sipping her beer and waiting for Louis to respond.

“What kind of clues were you expecting, Liam?” 

“I don’t know,” Liam laughs, shaking her head. “That was kind of stupid, huh? But, like, I don’t know. No stray hair ties or anything. I recognize all the clothes lying around as yours. There were more, like, signs of life when Zayn lived here.”

Louis looks around the room and winces at the bare walls and half-empty bookshelves. She’s left everything exactly the way it was after Zayn had packed up her belongings, a glutton for punishment apparently.

Liam curses and shifts closer to Louis on the couch, throwing her arm around her shoulders and hugging her to her side.

“I’m an asshole,” she says, startling a laugh out of Louis. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean to be insensitive, I’m just so excited that you’re moving on.”

“It’s okay,” Louis says, resting her head on Liam’s shoulder. “I am. Moving on.”

Moving on. What a stupid fucking phrase. Louis hates it. 

“Speaking of moving on…”

Louis turns her head to look up at Liam’s face. “What?”

“I just want to thank you,” Liam says, tilting her head against Louis.’ “For agreeing to come over and help with wedding crafting tomorrow night, even though Zayn and Gigi will be there. It means a lot to both of us. Soph was so upset earlier, she had a huge fight with Hailee after she called to cancel because she saw Niall flirting with someone at the bar last night.” 

Pushing aside the thought that she didn’t realize she could say no to wedding crafting, Louis pats Liam’s knee. “Of course, Lima Bean. It’s my job as your oldest friend and bridesmaid to make sure your handmade paper flower centerpieces… well, they’re going to look like shit since I’m helping, but you know what I mean.”

Liam throws her head back and laughs, and then hugs Louis closer for a moment.

“I just want the wedding to be perfect,” she confesses with a sigh. “Not for me, I don’t really care where we get married. I just want her to be my wife. But Sophia’s been dreaming about a wedding since she was little, and for awhile there after she realized she would want to marry a woman, she didn’t think she’d ever get one. God, Lou, I just want her to be happy. It kills me that I can’t do anything when stuff like Hailee refusing to be in the same room with Niall happens. After all that accommodating when it came to the dress colors, too!”

“Oh, I know,” Louis says pointedly. “I’m wearing fucking turquoise, remember? All because Niall can’t keep it in her pants.”

As Liam laughs, Louis takes a sip of beer and thinks about her current predicament. Her ex-girlfriend is in town with her new girlfriend. And as much as she wishes it weren’t the case, there’s no getting out of being around them. Because the dork sitting next to her on the couch, bringing her snacks and cracking up at her jokes, is her oldest and best friend. And Sophia is the love of Liam’s life. So if the wedding is important to them, then it’s important to Louis. Sure, things have gotten a bit… muddled, with her arrangement with Harry. But Louis can handle it. She can be a grownup. 

Not for Zayn’s sake. Maybe partly for her own sake. But mostly for Liam’s sake.

“So what time are we supposed to be there tomorrow?”

*

Louis may have made begrudging peace with being a grownup about things, but she still takes extra time getting ready to go over to Liam and Sophia’s the next night. If she has to make centerpieces with her ex, at least she can look hot doing it. After much consideration and one or two texts to Niall, she decides on black skinny jeans paired with a simple black t-shirt. Black Vans, no socks. (Never socks, if she can help it.) She’ll throw on her denim jacket before leaving, but first: mascara. Normally, Louis doesn’t bother since she has naturally long, dark lashes, but she wants to emphasize them tonight. And if that helps bring out her blue eyes, so be it. Of course, since this is the one night she needs her hair to cooperate, it won’t, so she tugs on a beanie and arranges the pieces of hair around her face just so. 

And with one last, long look in the mirror, she’s satisfied. She’ll never be able to compete with Gigi, who she’s learned from some light googling (okay, full-on internet stalking) is an up-and-coming model in New York with a momager to rival Kris Jenner, but at least she’ll feel like the best version of herself. That’s all she can ask for, really. She grabs her phone and AirPods and wallet, and she’s off to catch the bus.

There’s a slight breeze, so it’s colder outside than it looks as the setting sun bathes her city in an orange glow. It had only taken one summer here, an internship back in law school, to convince Louis that San Francisco was where she belonged. She just fits here, in a way she never did back home. The city is so open, she never feels boxed in. She’s never the lone queer or liberal person in a room and if she needs to get outside, feel fresh air against her skin, there’s a million places to go and just _be_ year-round in the mild climate. And for a city so close to new tech money, it still has so much personality, the kind of character that new skyscrapers or cookie cutter mini mansions could never hope to achieve. 

Even though she would have followed Zayn to New York in a heartbeat, Louis knows deep down she’s more suited to the energy on the West Coast. 

As she slides into her seat on the bus, Louis unlocks her phone to see a text from Harry. 

**_vibe check??_ **

She laughs, some of her nerves dissipating.

**_A little nervous, but okay!! Be there in 20_ **

Last summer, Liam had shared a Spotify playlist with her and a few other friends from home with songs from _The Hills_ to celebrate the show coming back. (As if Louis would watch a version without LC.) Ever since, that playlist has been her secret weapon for when nerves strike like this; something about the opening notes of “Unwritten” can soothe her before even the most nerve-wracking of conference calls. So Louis settles in for the ride with Natasha Bedingfield to keep her company. 

It would have been nice to arrive with Harry instead of meeting her there, but Harry had plans with her sister that afternoon. Louis thinks they were shopping for outfits for their family party that’s coming up. From what Harry says, Louis thinks she’ll get along well with the sister, Gemma. Apparently, if you want family gossip, she’s your go-to, and Louis is definitely going to want the rundown, the juicy bits that Harry is probably too nice to share, on everyone she’ll be meeting.

The bus rumbles to a stop and Louis hops out on the corner a block away from Liam and Sophia’s apartment. As she strides up the hill, she tugs at her beanie and fusses with her hair, her nerves steadily rising despite Rihanna’s voice in her ears singing about sharing her umbrella. Luckily it only takes the sight of Harry waiting outside for her to calm her down. She can do this, but it helps that she doesn’t have to face it alone.

“You look great,” she calls out as she walks up, pocketing her AirPods. Harry preens in her flannel shirt, worn open over another flannel, looking like every wlw’s wet dream. “And here I thought I looked good.”

“You do,” Harry says quickly, reaching out to smooth the hair on Louis’ forehead. “You look so good, Lou.”

Louis is surprised at the casual intimacy of it at first, but then she realizes they must have already started pretending. Of course, any of their friends might be walking up at the same time. And Louis wouldn’t put it past Liam spy on them out the window. 

She wraps her arms around Harry’s waist and holds her close, whispering, “thank you,” in her ear. Harry hugs her back, swaying a couple of times before pulling back and taking Louis’ hand in hers.

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

Louis is a little jittery as they climb the stairs and she wishes she could just tell her emotions to pick a lane already. All this up and down is just annoying. She thinks Harry picks up on her mood, because she squeezes her hand as they reach the last landing.

“I’m gonna try out pet names tonight,” she says casually, leading Louis down the hallway. “I’m trying to think of something grosser than ‘lover,’ but it’s hard.”

“Oh, god,” Louis groans, remembering that night in the bar when calling Zayn ‘lover’ was basically the only thing Gigi had said. “You don’t think they really call each other that, do you? That’s the worst.”

“I kind of think they do,” Harry laughs, knocking on the apartment door. “They seem the type.”

Just as Louis is about to protest that Zayn isn’t really, or wasn’t at least, the door swings open to reveal Liam and her trademark grin. Louis loves that grin, it looks like Liam just closes her eyes and opens her mouth wide. It’s her personal goal to see that grin the entire day of the wedding, so Louis squares her shoulders and squeezes Harry’s hand. She’s got this.

“Lima Bean,” she says cheerfully, only forcing it a little. “We’re here to fuck up your centerpieces! Well, I am, not sure about Harry here, she’s probably an expert at crafting flowers out of paper.”

“Harry,” Sophia says, coming up behind Liam, “have you told your girlfriend that you’re the one who showed us this crafting tutorial?”

“Harry,” Louis gasps in faux outrage. “This is all your fault?”

“Guilty as charged,” Harry confirms with a crooked grin. She looks so pleased with herself that Louis can’t find it in herself to be put out over having to craft. “Please tell me you sprung for the expensive glue, or else we’ll be here all night.”

Louis raises her eyebrows and mouths the words “expensive glue” at Liam, who just shakes her head as they follow Sophia and Harry into the living room. It looks like they’re the last to arrive; Louis spots Sophia’s sister Zoe pouring wine in the kitchen with their friend Lou and Niall is cutting white paper into strips at the coffee table with Barbara, one of her on and off girlfriends who from the looks of it might be interested in being on again. Selena is in the corner, studiously folding a green sheet of paper and pretending like she’s not watching Niall and Barbara out of the corner of her eye. Zayn and Gigi are sitting on the couch, their heads bowed together, talking quietly and ignoring the rest of the room. 

“Hi,” Harry says, greeting the group at large. She draws the word out for as long as she does the word ‘hey’ as she plops down at the coffee table, patting the space next to her. “C’mere, sweet cheeks, sit next to me.”

Sweet cheeks. _Sweet cheeks._ Well, Louis has to give it to her; Harry managed to come up with something worse than ‘lover.’

Louis can feel Zayn’s eyes on her as she sits cross-legged next to Harry on the floor, but she refuses to look over at her. Instead, she kisses Harry on the cheek and nods at Niall and Barbara. “Hey, guys. Did you know there’s such a thing as expensive glue?”

Harry lets out a peal of laughter and elbows her in the side.

“Apparently without it, we’ll be here all night!” Louis laughs, fending off Harry’s elbow. 

“Can’t say that I did, sweet cheeks,” Niall remarks, pushing over a pair of scissors. “Here, help us cut strips of paper. Liam said they’re not ordering pizza until we have seven centerpieces done and I’m starving.”

“You’re always starving,” Louis says automatically as she reaches for the scissors. They’ve had this exact exchange so many times over the years that she doesn’t even realize that she and Zayn had spoken in unison until the rest of the room falls silent. 

“That was weird,” Gigi says, breaking the silence.

Louis bristles at her matter of fact tone. It was weird, but Gigi didn’t have to say so in that stupid, deep voice of hers as if she’s the judge and jury of craft night. 

“Not really,” Liam says, laughing awkwardly as she helps Zoe pass out glasses of wine. “Niall’s always telling us how hungry she is, and that was just kind of a thing, saying she’s always hungry, back when, um, Zayn lived here. Just a thing, you know, in our group of friends.”

“So you guys have all been friends for a long time, huh?” Gigi asks, accepting a glass of white wine and looking around the room. To her credit, she actually looks interested, which is more than Louis can say of her from the first time they met.

“Yeah, for years,” Niall says, pushing the scissors closer to Louis. “Liam and Louis have known each other the longest, but–”

“Except for you,” Zayn interrupts, leaning forward and narrowing her eyes at Harry. “We’ve all known each other for years, but I don’t know you.”

“Hey,” Louis snaps, taking Harry’s hand in hers and rubbing her thumb over her knuckles. “Don’t be fucking rude.”

“Let’s everybody calm down,” Liam says, holding her hands up and eyeing the pairs of scissors scattered on the coffee table. Despite the tension in the air, Louis is tempted to laugh; you’d think they were about to rumble by the look on Liam’s face.

“Yeah, stand down, Z,” Niall says, picking up the pair of scissors she keeps trying to push to Louis and tossing them in her lap. “Everyone get crafting while I tell the tale of how I met Harry and brought her into the group.”

“This outta be good,” Selena mutters in the corner, causing Lou to snort wine out of her nose. Zoe rushes to hand her a napkin as everyone starts to giggle.

Harry squeezes Louis’ hand, whispering, “thanks, sweet cheeks,” in her ear.

“No problem, baby cakes,” Louis murmurs back, running her fingers through Harry’s curls before finally picking up the damn scissors and reaching for a sheet of paper to cut as Niall regales them.

“So there I am,” Niall declares, discarding her scissors to gesture with her hands. “About to see Fleetwood Mac, and sure the concert was in San Jose, but what are you gonna do? It’s still Fleetwood fucking Mac, right?” 

“We get it,” Barbara giggles, shoving at Niall’s shoulder. “Fleetwood Mac. Get to the part with Harry.”

Louis throws a sympathetic look to Selena in the corner, who’s quietly ripping a piece of paper into bits. 

“So it’s still early, they’ve basically just started,” Niall continues, shoving Barbara’s shoulder right back. “They start playing Dreams, everyone goes apeshit. And this girl in front of me, who’s blocking my view by the way, ’cause she’s tall, trips over her own two feet.”

Louis glances over at Harry, who’s blushing down at the strip of paper her in hands. She nudges her knee against Harry’s and is rewarded with a small smile.

“So I reach forward and help her get her footing, and she grips my hand, just like this,” Niall says, taking Barbara’s hand to demonstrate. “And she says, ‘bro,’ like deadly serious, just like that–”

Harry buries her face in her hands and Louis coos, hugging her around the shoulders, as everyone laughs.

“So she says, ‘bro,’” Niall says, trying to keep a straight face. “‘Bro, your vibes are epic. Hold my hand.’ And she made me hold her hand for the rest of the concert. Didn’t share any of her mushrooms, mind you, but we still became friends.”

“Ah, so that’s when Harry met Niall,” Louis remarks, ruffling Harry’s hair.

“You knew that, though, Louis,” Sophia says, tilting her head. “Right?”

“Yeah, she just loves my storytelling abilities so much,” Niall declares, picking up her scissors again. “So every time is like the first time. I’ll just cut these strips in half, right?”

At least four people shout “no,” as Niall winks at Louis. 

“Lou and I met on New Year’s Eve,” Harry says quietly. In the chaos surrounding Niall’s scissors diversion, only Zayn and Gigi seem to hear her. “And we’ve been together ever since.”

“That’s cool,” Gigi comments, looking down at her phone. “I mean kinda basic, but…”

“Hey, nothing wrong with being basic,” Lou says, sitting down on the couch next to Gigi. “I live for pumpkin spice latte season. Call me a basic bitch, I don’t even care.”

The crisis that Niall had created now averted, the conversation moves onto less loaded topics, like embracing your inner basic bitch and, inevitably, the wedding.

“Lou, you doing hair for the wedding?” Zayn asks as Gigi tugs at her sleeve to get her attention. They laugh at something on Gigi’s phone as Lou groans. 

“Yeah, me and Sam,” Lou says, scrubbing a hand over her face. “I love you guys, but it’s going to be nuts between two brides, eight bridesmaids, both moms–”

“Well, you won’t have to do much with mine,” Louis says, shaking out her hand, which is starting to cramp after cutting so many strips of paper. “I can just wash and dry it myself.”

“Right,” Gigi laughs. “That’s hilarious.” 

“I don’t think she was kidding, lover,” Zayn says, standing and holding out a hand to Gigi. “Louis’ not like you. Come on, let’s grab a smoke.”

No one seems to have noticed the exchange besides Harry, too wrapped up in wedding talk as Sophia breaks out the expensive glue. Tears sting at Louis’ eyes, old wounds from not fitting in with the more feminine girls in school that she thought would have healed over by now feeling fresh and raw. Harry parts her lips to speak, but Louis shakes her head.

“Anyone else need a refill?” she asks, standing and picking up her wine glass. She heads into the kitchen without waiting for replies, edging into the corner of the small room where she’s less likely to be seen before pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes. This crying jag needs to be over before it begins. She can’t let Zayn know that Gigi got to her.

“Lou?”

“I’m fine, Harry,” Louis lies, refusing to turn around. She laughs mirthlessly. “You were right, Zayn is the type to call someone ‘lover.’ Just goes to show you how well I thought I knew her.”

“Gigi’s a bitch.”

That startles a genuine laugh out of Louis. 

“And no offense but Zayn is, too. Maybe not when you guys were together, but…”

“I’m not sure anymore,” Louis says sadly, turning around to face Harry at last. “I just… I don’t know.”

Harry opens her arms and Louis goes to her, wrapping her arms around Harry’s waist. It’s creepy to sniff your fake girlfriend’s hair probably, but Louis does it anyway. The lavender fragrance is just as soothing as Harry’s long arms around her. She rests her head against Harry’s shoulder and wonders how old her flannel is; it’s the kind of soft against her skin that only comes after, like, a hundred washes. After a minute, Harry starts shifting her feet, like they’re dancing or something. Louis is just about to ask what she’s doing when she hears footsteps behind them.

“Sophia! Toss me my phone, I have to get a photo of this! Lou and Harry are slow dancing in the kitchen, isn’t that cute?”

Louis forgets about Zayn and Gigi as their friends swarm the doorway, all with their phones out to document how cute the slow dancing is. She laughs against Harry’s neck while Harry camps it up, leading Louis in a simple box step. It’s cheesy and embarrassing and wonderful and exactly what she needs. After one final spin, Harry releases her to applause from their audience and they both take a bow. Zayn and Gigi must have slipped back into the apartment while they were dancing; they’re at the back of the crowd. Louis can’t quite read the expression on Zayn’s face before she turns away. 

Louis turns back to the counter to actually refill her empty wine glass. “Thanks for the dance, baby cakes,” she says over her shoulder, expecting Harry to laugh or banter back with a ‘sweet cheeks’ but Harry remains silent. When her glass is full, Louis turns to see Harry lingering by the doorway, her face flushed as she chews on her lower lip. “Hey, do you want water? You look a little red.”

“Oh, um, yeah, yeah,” Harry stammers, pushing her hand through her hair. “With everyone in the kitchen, just got a little–”

“Overheated?” Niall interrupts, walking in the kitchen and patting Harry on the back.

Louis laughs. “Go on, go sit down. I’ll bring your water out in a sec.”

Harry looks hesitant, but nods and walks out. Niall leans against the counter as Louis grabs a glass for Harry. 

“You know you’re an idiot, right?” 

“What?” Louis asks, distracted as she fills Harry’s glass. “Why?”

“If you have to ask…” Niall shrugs, shaking her head. “Come on, let’s get back out there and make some fucking centerpieces.”

Glasses in hand, Louis follows Niall to the living room, where everyone is gathered around the coffee table again. She thinks she catches Zayn watching out of the corner of her eye as she sits next to Harry and hands her the water, but she forces herself not to check. Looking around the table, Louis realizes that, collectively, they have made alarmingly little progress on the centerpieces. Liam is never going to order pizza at this rate.

She claps her hands together. “How the fuck do we put these together, anyway?”

Sophia and Harry start folding strips of paper and demonstrating where to apply glue to the tabs that they’ve all been painstakingly cutting for the last hour. Louis actually pays attention, the promise of pizza being a great motivator, but she can’t quite get the hang of it. Her centerpiece just looks like pieces of paper stuck together, unlike Harry’s, which even Louis can tell is a pair of white flowers with green leaves. 

Louis is staring down at the mess of paper in her hands, not sure what to do, when Harry whispers in her ear, “Here, let me help.”

Instead of taking the paper and rearranging it for her like Louis expected, Harry fits her large hands over Louis’ and guides her. Once the shape resembles a flower, she instructs Louis to hold it still while she glues. Then they each hold half while they wait for the glue to dry, in unspoken agreement that they don’t want to take any chances. After a few minutes, Harry nods at Louis and they move together to set the centerpiece on the coffee table. Louis holds her breath, but the damned thing stays together.

“We did it!” she laughs, turning to Harry, who holds her hand up for a high five, tangling their fingers together after Louis makes contact.

“Dream team,” Harry declares, her green eyes sparkling. She turns to Liam, who’s trying to wipe smears of glue off her hands. “Can we please have pizza now? I want pineapple.” 

Louis shrieks in indignation as the group falls into overlapping arguments about pizza toppings. “Harold, you can’t be serious! _Pineapple_ on _pizza?_ No, no, we have to break up, I’m sorry. This simply will not stand. Oh, well. We had a good run.”

“Come on, Lou,” Harry pleads, pressing her hands together like she’s praying. “Give it a try.”

“Yeah, Tommo,” Niall adds, eyes on the slips of paper she’s gluing together. “Give it a try, you might like it. Could be good for you, even.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Neil?” Louis demands, fending off Harry’s sudden attempts to tickle her sides. “You hate pineapple on pizza.”

“Guys, please,” Liam exclaims, standing up. “I’ll order the pizza, I promise, you’ll all get something you like, I already made a list. Just please keep working on the centerpieces, okay?”

Louis and Harry tag team a few more centerpieces while they wait for the pizza to be delivered. She’s probably just slowing Harry down, but she’s basically no use on her own and Zayn has frowned at them twice so they must make a convincing couple. Louis can’t help feeling pleased. The point was never to make Zayn jealous; even before that night at the bar, Louis had started moving on, as Liam would put it, in little ways. No, Louis has her pride is all. She shouldn’t have to subject herself to letting Zayn know how heartbroken and pathetic she’d been, especially when it doesn’t seem like Zayn was affected at all by their breakup.

Chaos descends when there’s a knock at the door. Liam leaps up to answer it while Sophia and Harry hastily instruct the others how and where to move the finished centerpieces and craft supplies. Louis follows orders wordlessly, not wanting to be responsible for spilling on anything. Then she stays out of the way as Liam dishes out pizza on paper plates and Zoe helps Sophia refill everyone’s glasses. Once she has her plate in hand, Louis takes a large bite of pizza (no pineapple, thank you very much). Harry happily stuffs her face with her sacrilegious piece of pizza and Louis grins at her before noticing that Gigi is picking at a salad. For fuck’s sake.

After scarfing down her first slice of pizza, Louis tunes into the conversations happening around her. Niall is definitely putting the bridesmaid lineup in jeopardy again by openly flirting with Barbara, but there’s nothing Louis can do about it. Sophia is describing the venue, which is a couple of hours away in wine country, and Louis has to admit that it sounds amazing. Harry is clapping her hands at finding out there’s a venue cat who likes to attend the events held there when Zayn clears her throat.

“So, I actually have a gig while we’re town,” she announces, sitting up straight. “An open mic night this week, I’d love for you all to come.”

Harry squeezes Louis’ knee, drawing her attention from the red lipstick tattoo that her eyes had fallen to. She shoots her a quick smile, trying not to think about the fact that Zayn must write songs about Gigi, in addition to getting tattoos for her. That used to be her. It’s weird is all. All of this is so fucking weird.

“We’d love to,” she says, the words tumbling out all of a sudden. “Right, baby cakes? We’d love to come.”

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up but she recovers quickly, nodding and turning to Zayn. “Of course. Love to.”

Zayn doesn’t say anything at first, looking between the two of them. Louis gets the feeling that she didn’t actually intend for them to accept the invitation, and now it’s like they’re playing some kind of silent chicken over their attending. Well, Louis’ never been one to back down first. She looks back at Zayn, keeping her gaze even and her chin up.

“Cool,” Zayn says at last before turning back to Gigi. “Can I have a sun-dried tomato, lover?”

Louis can’t help the shudder that goes through her now that Zayn’s attention is elsewhere. _Lover._ It’s just so gross and off-putting. She’s trying to remember a _30 Rock_ joke about it, from an earlier season when the show was still good, when Harry nudges her side and leans in to whisper, “That word bums me out unless it’s between ‘meat’ and pizza.’”

Louis cracks up, moving her hand to cover her mouth as her shoulders shake with laughter. Harry hides her face in Louis’ neck, giggling against her skin. They’re in their own little world for a few minutes, one of them whispering ‘lover,’ as soon as the other calms down, sending the pair of them into peals of laughter.

Harry pulls away first, reaching for her glass of water. Not for the first time tonight, Louis thinks how glad she is that she didn’t have to come here and face everything alone, even though she could have done it. For Liam. But it’s nice having someone on her team, and not just someone but Harry, who always seems to know when Louis needs to be comforted or distracted. If she was going to be dragged into this hare-brained scheme with anyone, she’s glad it’s her.

*

It turns out that Zayn’s open mic night is in Oakland. On a Wednesday. At 10:00 p.m. The fact that Louis hasn’t backed out is a true testament to how far she’s willing to go to prove she’s completely fucking fine after their breakup. Once they’d gotten the details via group chat, Louis had switched threads and tried to give Harry an out – after all, neither of them knew what they were actually agreeing to the other night, high on crafting and carbs. But Harry had insisted she was in, so here they and most of their friends are, walking down the streets of Oakland in groups of two and three on their way to hear Zayn sing. 

And get drunk, probably. Very drunk. 

Liam directs everyone to the right bar, holding the door open and ushering them inside. There are a couple of tables off to the side that Zayn and Gigi have claimed by spreading their long wool winter coats over the table tops. Louis can’t help but make eye contact with Harry, knowing she’s mentally rolling her eyes too. It’s March in San Francisco (well, Oakland), so the weather can be a little tempestuous, but it’s not like it’s going to snow or anything.

“Lima, want to grab drinks with me?” Louis says, laying her light jacket over the back of her chair. “I’ve got first round for our table.”

“Guinness, please and thank you,” Niall pipes up first, never one to miss an opportunity. “They have it on tap, I checked.” 

“That’s why she agreed to come,” Harry remarks with a sly grin as she looks at the menu. “Ooh, can I have a French Rosé? Look, Lou, it has rosé vodka and sparkling rosé in it!”

She looks up with a gleeful expression, pointing toward the cocktail description on the page. 

“Sure thing, baby cakes,” she replies, squeezing Harry’s shoulder as the rest of the table groans exaggeratedly at the nickname. “Soph, how about you?”

“A glass of white,” Sophia says, twisting her neck to look up at Liam behind her. “Whatever they have, just as long as it’s–”

“Dry,” Liam says, leaning down to kiss the top of Sophia’s head. “I know.”

Louis and Liam make their way to the bar and manage to get the bartender’s attention after only a few minutes. They relay their orders and as they wait, Liam chatters on about the food for the wedding while Louis tries to tune her out, looking around the room. Her stomach sinks when she sees two of Zayn’s sisters, Doniya and Waliyha, standing at the other end of the bar. Louis used to think of them as extended family, but she hasn’t spoken to them in months. When they spot Louis, they smile and wave, and she smiles and waves back, but it’s awkward. It just is. Luckily they get their drinks relatively quickly and Louis can escape back to their table. She settles in the chair next to Harry, pushing her fancy pink drink toward her.

“What happened to Jameson, neat?” Louis teases, taking in the delight on Harry’s face at her first sip. “I didn’t take you for a rosé kind of girl.”

“Lou,” Harry exclaims, setting her glass down. “You almost made me snort it out of my nose!”

Louis laughs as Harry wipes her nose and then pouts.

“I’m sorry,” she says, holding her hands up in surrender. “But it’s a fair question, baby–”

“Cakes, yeah, yeah, we all know you’re disgustingly in love, you can stop reminding us any time now.”

Louis tosses a napkin in Niall’s direction in rebuke for the sass, but keeps her eyes on Harry, waiting for her to peel back another layer.

“I do drink Jameson,” Harry says, putting a hand over her heart as if to swear it. “I drank quite a few that night if you remember.”

Louis nods, leaning in and hitching Harry’s chair closer to her so she can hear better over the din of the crowd.

“It’s my stepdad’s favorite, so I drink it with him when I go home,” Harry explains, blushing down at her drink. “You’ll see at the party this weekend. But I like sweet stuff, too.”

Liam and Sophia coo at them across the table as Niall makes gagging noises.

“Shut up, all of you,” Louis laughs, waving a hand at the table. “I believe my girlfriend here was just about to tell me how sweet I am.”

“Oh no, look at that,” Niall says loudly. “The first act is about to go on. Too bad, you’ll just have to do that later, Harry. In private.”

Niall throws a wink at Louis, and she has to cover her mouth to hide her laugh. This is exactly how Niall would act if Louis actually had a new girlfriend, and it’s funny to see how seriously she takes her role as the sole person to know about her and Harry’s arrangement.

A hush falls over the crowd as an announcer taps the mic before introducing the first act. Liam and Sophia turn their chairs so they face the stage as a guy with a tambourine starts to sing. Louis braces herself for the worst, but he’s actually not terrible and she dutifully claps after his second song. The duo who go on after him are actually terrible, and Louis and Harry both drain their drinks to help pass the time. 

“You want another?” Harry whispers, standing when Louis nods. She flaps a hand as Niall parts her lips to speak, preemptively shushing her. “I know Niall, Guinness on tap. Coming right up.”

Louis twists in her chair to watch Harry go, and spots Zayn making her way to the corner of the stage with her guitar in hand. She looks calm and collected, but Louis remembers how nervous she used to get before performances. It used to be Louis’ job to hold her hand before she walked out on stage, but Gigi is nowhere near Zayn. Looking around the room, Louis finally locates her at the bar, chatting with Zayn’s sisters.

Louis wonders what that means. It could be that Zayn doesn’t struggle with anxiety as much as she used to. Or maybe she does but Gigi doesn’t know. Or maybe Zayn just didn’t need Louis as much as she thought she did. 

At that cheerful thought, Louis shakes her head, trying to clear it, and refocuses her attention on Harry. The bartender is flirting with her, but Louis’ not sure that she has any idea. Harry doesn’t look uncomfortable at the attention, thank fuck, but she also doesn’t appear to be flirting back. She’s not making a lot of eye contact or blushing or smiling the way she does when she’s talking to Louis. As Harry turns and catches her eye, Louis waves, admiring Harry’s fake girlfriend skills for the hundredth time. It’s funny that she makes her living behind the camera when she’s so suited to be in front of it.

On her way back to the table, Harry appears to stumble over her own feet but manages to right herself just as Louis stands, intending to rush over and help. She sets their drinks down and accepts a hug and a kiss on the cheek from Louis.

“Embarrassed?” Louis whispers.

“A little,” Harry murmurs back, running her fingers through Louis’ hair. “But not really. Not that many people saw, right?”

“No one but me,” Louis says as they take their seats, threatening Niall with her eyes. Even though she definitely saw, Niall turns to her Guinness without a word. 

“Next up, we have Zayn Malik!” 

Everyone at their tables stops chatting and turns to the stage, starting to applaud but hesitating as Zayn whispers in the announcer’s ear. He clears his throat and continues, “Sorry, that’s just Zayn. Give it up, everybody, for Zayn!”

This time when Harry and Louis turn to each other, neither of them can help their eye rolling as they clap. Louis rests her arm on the back of Harry’s chair as Zayn starts plucking at her guitar. Louis doesn’t expect to enjoy the performance, but at least Zayn isn’t playing the guitar that Louis bought for her on their one-year anniversary. All in all, this night could be a lot worse.

“She sounds good, doesn’t she?” Liam asks in an exaggerated whisper. 

They all nod back, and Louis thinks she’s right. Zayn has always had a good voice; she has a distinctive tone and the texture of her voice is almost smokey in the middle register. Or at least that’s what one reviewer said last year. Louis had taped the cutout from the newspaper to the fridge, and memorized the wording after seeing it every day for months. 

She plays a cover song that Louis remembers hearing her practice and then one that Louis thinks is original but she hasn’t heard before. The other acts have only done two songs, so Louis expects Zayn to exit the stage as they applaud again, but she stays behind the mic, strumming a new tune on the guitar. Louis’ ears perk up and she tries to place the familiar notes.

Oh. _Oh._

Shit. 

Shit fuck shit. 

The realization hits her like a ton of bricks. It’s her song. Their song? It’s a song about _her._ Louis winces as Zayn starts singing the words that Louis heard a million times after someone had posted a performance video on Facebook, tagging Zayn, back in January. Louis had shut herself in her apartment for days, replaying it over and over, weeping to the lyrics about lost love. It had been her only tie to Zayn, who never updates her own social media, not even to promote her music, and she’d clung to it like a lifeline. After receiving one too many drunk texts, Niall had used her spare key to break in and put a stop to Louis’ wallowing, making her promise to quit cold turkey. 

The plaintive chorus is like a sucker punch to the gut as Louis tears her eyes away from Zayn to look at Gigi, who’s swaying to the music at the bar without a care in the world. Maybe Louis’ an idiot – no, she must be, she’s a fucking idiot. Because she never expected Zayn to sing a song about her in front of her new girlfriend. Who does that? But Gigi clearly doesn’t mind, she doesn’t look unhappy or upset. She looks like she’s enjoying this. What is wrong with her? With them?

Louis needs air. Now. She tries not to draw attention to herself as she stands but Harry frowns, moving to get up, too. Louis waves her off, mouthing, “I’m fine,” and weaves through the crowd. She finally escapes the sound of her ex-girlfriend’s pleas for understanding, stepping outside to lean against the wall with the smokers. Fuck, she misses smoking. 

“Lou?”

Lous turns to see Harry approaching her. She can’t quite stomach the look of concern on Harry’s face, so she looks down at her feet instead, scuffing her sneaker against the sidewalk.

“Thought you might want this,” Harry says softly, holding out Louis’ jacket. “I know it’s not a wool coat, but…”

Louis takes the jacket and puts it on. She knows Harry’s aiming for a laugh or at least a smile, but all she can manage is a terse nod.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Harry,” she mutters, looking down at her feet. “It’s fine.”

“Do you want a cigarette?”

Louis’ head snaps up. “What? You smoke?”

“Just, like, socially every once in awhile,” Harry says, rummaging in her pocket. “I brought a couple of emergency cigarettes, just in case.”

She brandishes two cigarettes and a pink lighter from her pocket.

“Oh no,” she gasps, picking up the broken pieces of one of the cigarettes. “I meant to bring one for each of us.” She looks up, biting her lip. “Wanna share?”

“Yeah. Yeah, thanks,” Louis says, holding out her hands. “Here, I’ll light it.”

Louis lights their cigarette and hands back the lighter as she takes her first puff. Leaning her head against the wall, she sighs, “Fuck, that’s good. I miss smoking.”

“When did you quit?” Harry asks, taking the cigarette. Their hands brush together, and her skin is warm. Like always.

“Zayn and I actually quit together,” Louis says, laughing mirthlessly. “Right after we started dating. She knew it was bad for her voice, and my sisters had been bugging me to quit basically since I started a few years ago.”

“So that song,” Harry says quietly, passing the cigarette back. She doesn’t continue, and the words hang in the air between them for a moment.

“It’s about me,” Louis says at last. “Us. I didn’t think she would sing it tonight, I wasn’t expecting that. At all.”

“She keeps blindsiding you,” Harry remarks, taking the cigarette from Louis and ashing it. “That must be tough.”

“What I don’t understand,” Louis says, her voice starting to wobble as she turns to face Harry, “is how she could write that song, how she could sing that song like that, but act like she’s totally fine around me. Like the breakup wasn’t even a blip for her.” 

Harry tilts her head and waits, holding out the cigarette, like she knows Louis isn’t done talking about it now that she’s started.

“I went back through Gigi’s Instagram,” Louis confesses before taking another drag. “They started dating, like, a week after Zayn moved. A week! She left me. She found someone new. She comes back here, like it’s _nothing._ And yet she’s inside singing that song like it means everything. I don’t get it, Harry. I really don’t.”

“I don’t get it either, Lou,” Harry says, reaching a hand out and wiping away a stray tear that’s fallen on Louis’ cheek. “And I’m sorry. But…”

“But what? What, Harry?”

“I just don’t think she’s worth it,” Harry says, her tone sure and steady. She shrugs when Louis looks at her, agape. “I’m sorry, but I really don’t. You’re fucking amazing, you know that? You’re kind, you’re protective and loyal, you’re so funny, you’re… even when you’re sad, you just draw people in and take care of them. You’re like the sun, warming everyone around you. And Zayn... she’s just not worth all of this pain you’re in.”

“But–”

“I don’t know how she was when you were together,” Harry continues, as if Louis hadn’t spoken. “Maybe she was good to you, or good for you then. But she hasn’t done anything since I’ve met her to make me think she’s worth a fraction of the pain she’s put you through. It just seems like you’ve built her up in your mind or something.”

Louis ashes the cigarette as she lets Harry’s words settle over her. Maybe there’s a kernel of truth to them; she’s just not sure anymore. Everything has been so confusing since Zayn came back.

“Even that song,” Harry adds, taking the cigarette. “It’s not good, it only has one chord.”

Louis bursts into laughter. “Harry!”

“It’s true,” Harry exclaims, her face brightening at Louis’ laughter. “I’m not even sorry.”

Louis laughs, wiping the rest of the tears on her face away. She leans against the wall and closes her eyes for a moment. It’s exhausting to feel so much, all the time. When she blinks her eyes open, Harry hands her the cigarette, watching her carefully. Louis takes a few more drags and once it’s down to the filter, tosses it to the sidewalk and stubs it under her shoe. She looks up as Harry moves to stand in front of her.

“Wanna get out of here?”

“What?” Louis laughs. “We can’t, Liam and Niall–”

“It’s an Irish goodbye,” Harry shrugs, a gleam of mischief in her eye. “Niall will understand, she’ll make excuses for us. Come on, you don’t actually want to go back in there, do you?”

“No,” Louis admits, glancing back at the door. “No, I really don’t.”

“So let’s go,” Harry says, taking Louis’ hand and tugging her down the sidewalk. “Come on!”

The moonlight washes over Harry’s pale skin as they break into a run, dodging slow walkers and cackling at their newfound freedom. After a few blocks, they reach the entrance to the BART station, both doubled over laughing. Louis catches her breath first, standing up and pulling out her wallet to get her card. Just as Harry reaches for hers, two teenage girls run past them and hop the turnstile, rushing up the stairs and then stopping at the top to start making out. Louis and Harry turn to each other, eyes wide and mouths agape in delight.

Harry cups her hands around her mouth and shouts, “Be gay, do crimes!”

The girls look down and when they spot them, raise their fists, shouting back, “Stonewall was a riot!” before running off.

“Well,” Louis says, “I guess the kids are alright.”

They collapse into giggles, clutching each other and trying to stay upright. Every time one of them calms down, the other raises a first or quotes their new Gen Z heroines, causing a new wave of laughter. Tears stream down their faces and, as Louis reaches out to wipe them away from Harry’s pink cheeks, she realizes she’d completely forgotten about Zayn and that fucking song. Thank god for Harry; she’s become such a good friend. Louis’ not sure what she would have done without her tonight, the past couple of weeks really. 

Harry gives her a small smile now that their laughter has faded, reaching up smooth Louis’ hair from her face. “I’m sorry it wasn’t a good night, Lou.” 

“I don’t know, Harold,” Louis says, stepping back. “It turned out pretty good.” She pulls her card out of her wallet and taps it against her chin. “What do you say, should we pay for our fares?” 

“Might as well,” Harry says, reaching for her wallet. “I’ve got be gay down, but I haven’t quite mastered the do crimes part.”

They erupt into laughter again, the sound echoing through the station as they loop arms and climb the steps. And Louis thinks she was right. The night did turn out pretty good. 

*

**_almost there, lou louuuuuuuuuu_ **

**_5 min away!!!!!_ **

Louis laughs at the texts from Harry, tossing her phone on the bed and turning to the closet. Tonight is Harry’s family party, and Louis wants it to go perfectly. Harry has been the model fake girlfriend for her, and Louis really wants to return to favor. Mark her words, she’s going to charm the pants off of Harry’s family.

Speaking of pants, what to wear, what to wear… she doesn’t picture Harry’s family as being very conservative – after all, they know she’s bringing a woman as a date and Harry’s clothes are never very buttoned up. But if they’re expecting Louis to wear a dress, they’re going to be sorely disappointed. The only one currently hanging in her closet is that god-awful turquoise bridesmaid dress and she only intends to wear it once.

After a few minutes of staring listlessly at her closet, the solution comes to her: Harry can decide. She knows her family’s taste, and she probably has an idea in mind of how Louis should look. But what Louis can do is lay out options on the bed to make it easier for her. The pantsuits she buys for work are similar in style, but she has a few colors to choose from. And if Louis knows Harry as well as she thinks she’s starting to, she’ll appreciate the button-down shirt choices that Louis pulls from the back of the closet. Louis’ sisters fancy themselves her personal stylists so they always gift her fun patterns that she wouldn’t bother to buy for herself, like flamingoes and seahorses. To their chagrin, Louis doesn’t break those shirts out very often, so the few she adds to the pile on the bed are in almost new condition, neat and ironed.

Just as she’s done combing through her closet, there’s a knock on the door. And then another knock. And then another and another, like Harry’s knocking up and down the door. Louis rushes to the door and flings it open to find a grinning Harry.

“Hi,” Harry chirps, holding up a brown paper bag. “I brought tacos!”

Louis can’t find it in herself to be annoyed at the knocking when Harry looks so cheerful. And glamorous, too, like she walked right out of a Katharine Hepburn movie in her navy pinstripe trousers and patterned sweater vest over a striped button-down with the sleeves rolled up. 

“What’s on your vest?” she asks, waving Harry inside. “Sheep?”

“Sheep!” Harry confirms, walking to the kitchen and setting the bag with their food down. It’s only then that Louis notices she has a rolled-up poster in her other hand. Harry holds it up with a crooked grin. “Liam mentioned your walls were still bare after She Who Must Not Be Named moved out, so I brought you some photos to hang up.”

“Oh my god, Harry, that’s so–”

Harry unfurls the poster to reveal one of Liam and Sophia’s engagement photos.

“–weird, what the fuck?” 

Harry honks a loud laugh, clapping a hand over her mouth. She’s still grinning as she lowers it, explaining, “It’s an incentive. I have three that I’m going to tape up, and that will motivate you to redecorate ASAP as possible. Right?”

“Um, yes, thank you, Michael Scott,” Louis says, pointing at the photo that Harry is waggling at her. “Ugh, gag me.”

“I know, they’re, like, disgustingly happy, right?” Harry says, turning the photo to look it up and down. “I wonder what brilliant photographer captured them so well.”

“Oh my go–”

“Okay, come on, come sit,” Harry instructs her, setting the photos on the counter. “It’s heavy appetizers at the party, but food goes fast around this crowd so we can’t arrive hungry. Especially since there’s an open bar – with top-shelf liquor, I might add.”

As Harry drawls on about food options at the party, Louis drifts over to the counter separating the kitchen from the living room and sits down. Harry pushes a wrapped taco toward her and then grabs them both beers from the fridge before sitting down next to Louis. She hums happily as she digs into her taco, and Louis honestly can’t take any more.

“Could you stop being perfect,” she starts, looking on as Harry sticks her tongue out before taking a bite, “for, I don’t know, just like fifteen seconds?”

“Perfect?” Harry asks, her mouth full of food. She swallows and then wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “I’m not perfect, Lou.”

“You are,” Louis insists, pointing at the posters and then the tacos as evidence. “You’re the most thoughtful person I’ve ever met, Harry. It’s sickening, honestly.”

Harry honks in laughter again as Louis looks on helplessly. Everything Harry does is endearing, what the fuck.

“I’m not,” Harry repeats, setting down her taco. She puts her hand over her heart. “I’m really not, I swear. I get, like, really competitive when I play games. I don’t even care if there are kids playing, I want to destroy whoever I’m playing against.”

Louis purses her lips, skeptical. 

“And I get jealous,” Harry adds, pointing to her eyes. “Literally a green-eyed monster. It’s a very unattractive quality, Lou.”

Louis takes a bite of food and moans at how good it is, waving a hand for Harry to continue.

“When my last girlfriend broke up with me, she told me I’m an arrogant son of a bitch who can’t admit when she’s sorry.”

Louis chokes on a sip of beer, and Harry thumps her back as she coughs. Once she catches her breath, she starts laughing. “Okay, okay. Maybe – _maybe_ – you’re not perfect. But arrogant son of a bitch? Really?”

“Really!” Harry laughs. “Lou, I’m starving, can I please eat instead of listing all of my flaws for you?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Louis replies, clinking her beer bottle against Harry’s. “Eat up. When we’re done, I can show you outfit options, okay?”

After they finish their tacos, they make their way to Louis’ bedroom, groaning at how full they are. As Louis could have predicted, Harry’s eyes light up at the white button-down patterned with small pink flamingos.

“That one,” she squeals, clapping her hands together. “Please, Lou? I love it. And how about the blue pants to go with, so we match?”

“Sure,” Louis shrugs. She starts putting away the other options. “Do you want me to wear the suit jacket?”

“You don’t have to,” Harry says as she walks to the hallway. She pauses at the door, turning around to add, “It’s pretty warm out, and the party will be crowded so you’ll just end up taking it off.”

“Cool. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Louis makes quick work of changing, she doesn’t want to be late and start off on the wrong foot. When she walks back out to the living room, doing the top button of her shirt, Harry is just finishing taping the posters of Liam and Sophia to the wall.

“Oh my god, you were serious,” Louis says, stopping in her tracks. “Harry, I thought that was a joke.”

“Nope,” Harry replies, puffing her chest out with pride. “See, Lou, now you’ll have to hang something up on these walls!”

“Well,” Louis sputters, “what’s to stop me from just taking these down and not putting anything else up?”

“I’ll be doing random checks. Like locker searches, totally unconstitutional.” Harry holds her hand out. “Ready to go?”

*

Harry requests a Lyft so they don’t have to rush or worry about public transportation schedules, and gives Louis a rundown of the guest list in the car. It’s her great-aunt Shirley and great-uncle Kenny’s fiftieth wedding anniversary party, so Harry’s mom, stepdad and sister will be there along with her grandparents, and then mostly family friends. There won’t be a lot of people their age; Harry doesn’t have cousins on this side of the family because Aunt Shirley and Uncle Kenny don’t have children. Harry goes on to explain that the older crowd dotes on her and Gemma so they’ll be very interested to meet Louis. 

Louis nods along as Harry rambles, trying to memorize names. Mom is Anne, stepdad is Robin. Grandma is Florence, Aunt Shirley’s sister. Grandpa is Adam, but he won’t say much. It’s a lot, but Louis really wants to kill it tonight, Harry deserves the best fake girlfriend there is. Well, Louis thinks as the golden light from the setting sun hits Harry’s flowing curls through the car window, she deserves the best real girlfriend, the best partner there is. But for tonight, Louis will have to do.

A pretty brunette who Louis recognizes from Instagram as Harry’s older sister, Gemma, is waiting for them outside of the restaurant. Louis hopes she passes the test as Gemma gives her a quick once-over while they get out of the car.

“Be nice,” Harry warns her sister, pointing a finger at her. “I’m already throwing her to the wolves tonight, don’t make it worse.”

“Hi, you must be Louis,” Gemma says sweetly, holding a hand out for Louis to shake as she ignores Harry altogether. “I’ve heard so much about you, I’m glad you finally gave this loser a shot so we could meet.”

“Gem-ma,” Harry whines, stamping her foot like a petulant child. It should be unattractive, but like everything Harry does, it somehow ends up being endearing.

“Don’t stomp that ugly golf loafer at me, Harry,” Gemma sniffs before turning back to Louis. “Besides, I came to warn you, not fuck with you.”

Louis raises her eyebrows, wondering if she should chime in at any point soon, as Harry and Gemma cross their arms and stand closer together in a huddle. Maybe she should let them strategize first.

“Everyone’s here,” Gemma says, her tone deadly serious. “And they are really, really excited to meet Louis. Really.”

“Is it worse than New Year’s 2015?” Harry asks, furrowing her brow and matching Gemma’s tone.

“What was–”

“Yes, dumbass, why do you think I snuck out to warn you?” Gemma huffs, rolling her eyes. “Kendall was a walk in the fucking park compared to this. They’re salivating. Grandma keeps telling everyone she ‘just wants want to see you settled already.’”

The wrinkle between Harry’s eyebrows deepens at Gemma’s air quotes and that’s when Louis decides to enter the huddle. 

“Do you have any tips for me?” she asks, directing her question to Gemma.

“Our mom is going to try to ply you with sugary mixed drinks,” Gemma says, holding out a finger as if to start counting off pieces of advice. Right, okay. Bring it on. Louis can handle this. “Don’t fall for it.”

“Don’t let anyone get you alone,” Harry adds, nudging Gemma until she nods in agreement. “We’ll keep an eye on you and try to help, but you have to keep us in your eyeline.”

“Give short, simple answers to questions,” Gemma continues, now up to three fingers. “Don’t give them any more ammunition than you have to.”

“Oh, and...” Harry trails off, consulting Gemma with her eyes. “You know, the thing.”

“Right,” Gemma sighs. “Listen, others have tried and failed before you, Louis. Only the great survive.”

“Gem–”

“Harry, let me do it my way if you want me to do it!” 

The exasperated exchange and silent argument the two are now conducting with their eyes reminds Louis so much of her and her own sisters that she could cry. But not now. Now, apparently, she needs to buck up.

“It’s okay, Harold,” Louis says, taking her hand and squeezing it. “I want you to be proud of me in there, and Gemma’s just trying to help.” 

Harry visibly melts at that as Gemma looks at her appraisingly.

“Right, we’ve got a shot, then,” she says, nodding in approval. “Well done, H. Okay, Louis, sometimes our dates to these get-togethers think we’re kidding about this, but I assure you we’re not. Please don’t, under any circumstances, make a joke about drinking the kool-aid.”

Louis is tempted to laugh. It sounds ridiculous – she doesn’t even know how that kind of joke would come up organically at a fiftieth anniversary party. But from the looks on the two sisters’ faces, they mean business, so it must be serious.

“Okay,” Louis says simply. “Do you mind if I ask why, though? I don’t think it would have occurred to me without you mentioning it now.”

“Kenny and Shirley worked on Leo Ryan’s campaign,” Harry says quietly. “They loved him, and it was this really formative time for them. They met a lot of their friends during those days.”

“They still exchange Christmas cards with Jackie Speier,” Gemma says to Harry. “Did you know that?”

Louis doesn’t know who Leo Ryan is, but she has heard the name Jackie Speier before. “Wait, the congresswoman? I think I voted for her.”

“Yeah,” Gemma nods. She exchanges a look with Harry before continuing, “The seat she ran for was Leo Ryan’s in the ’70s. She worked for him back then; she was a legal aide, I think, when he organized the trip to investigate Jonestown.”

“He was murdered by someone pretending to be a defector,” Harry says, and bits and pieces of the story start coming back to Louis. She swears she fell down a Wikipedia rabbithole about Jim Jones and the Peoples Temple cult at some point. “He’s, like, the only member of Congress to have been killed in the line of duty. And it’s really triggering for Shirley and Kenny when people make that joke because not everyone who died at Jonestown drank the kool-aid willingly; I think most of them were murdered.”

If Louis had been tempted to deflect or make light of the conversation, the looks on their faces stop her. She can only imagine what a pall the murders cast over Shirley and Kenny’s lives if Harry and Gemma look so serious.

“I hear you,” Louis says, looking between them. “I get it, I promise. No jokes.”

“Thank you,” Harry says, swinging their clasped hands. “They do like talking about activism, though, they’ve worked on a bunch of campaigns since then, state-wide and local, and they still go to protests all the time.”

“You should see them,” Gemma adds, “with their little lawn chairs and hand-lettered signs. It would be adorable if it weren’t so sad that there are still so many things for them to protest.”

“Should we go in?” Harry asks, wincing at the door. “Do you think we’re making it worse by taking so long?”

“Probably,” Gemma responds, rolling her eyes. “I told Michal to hold them off for as long as he could, but he’s not a miracle worker.”

“Who’s Michal?” Louis asks, following Gemma into the restaurant.

“Harry!” Gemma scolds over her shoulder. “Rude! You’ve been together for what? Two months? And you’ve never mentioned my boyfriend’s name?”

She turns to open the inner door to the restaurant and Louis looks at Harry with wide eyes, mouthing, “I’m sorry!” 

Harry laughs and ducks in to whisper, “I guess I’m not weirdly good at this after all.”

She wraps her arm around Louis’ shoulders as they follow Gemma into the private room where the party is. An actual hush falls over the crowd, eliminating any of Louis’ suspicions that Harry and Gemma were exaggerating about how eager the party-goers are to meet her. Dressed-up senior citizens in clumps of two and three start excitedly whispering to each other as a jovial-looking middle-aged man double-fisting whiskeys walks up to them.

“There you are, Harry,” he says, leaning in to kiss her cheek and handing her one of the tumblers. “Thought I was going to have to drink both of these myself.”

“What a hardship that would have been,” Harry teases with a crooked grin. “Robin, this is Louis. Lou, this is my stepdad, Robin. The man responsible for all of the Jameson neat orders you’ve been placing for me.”

“It’s nice to meet you, sir,” Louis says politely, shaking Robin’s hand.

“Not half as nice as it is to meet you, Louis,” Robin replies with a laugh. “Now maybe my wife will stop approaching young people in the grocery store to see if they want to date her daughter.”

“You’re joking,” Harry says flatly. “She told me she stopped doing that.”

Robin motions as if to zip his lips, his eyes twinkling as he turns back to Louis. 

“Now, Louis,” he says, “I hear you’re a lawyer. What type of law do you practice?”

“I’m in contract law,” Louis answers, wondering exactly how short and simple she should keep it. “I was at Turner, Pearlman, Turner and Winston for a few years, but I’m at a midsize firm now.”

“Oh, wonderful,” Robin says, looking pleased. “Contract law, now that’s steady work. You’ll always be in demand. I have a small tax law practice, myself.”

Before Louis has a chance to ask Robin about his work, Harry pinches her side and whispers, “Incoming.”

A gorgeous brunette whose features and kind smile remind Louis of Harry rushes up and playfully smacks Robin on the arm. 

“I can’t believe you got to meet her before me,” she exclaims before turning to Louis and clasping her hands against her chest. “You must be Louis.”

“Lou, this is my mom, Anne,” Harry interjects, throwing a pointed glance at her mother. “She is looking forward to meeting you a normal amount. Right, Mom?”

“Of course,” Anne laughs. “I’m not one of those silly, over-involved mothers. Louis, can I get you a drink? The cosmopolitans here are divine.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Gemma calls out, speed-walking over to Anne’s side. “She got away from me.”

“You two are horrible, horrible children,” Anne chides. “Who raised you?”

Louis scans the large room, trying to be subtle about looking for the bar. Harry’s already halfway through her drink, and Louis intends to catch up. An elderly couple joins them before she has any luck, the woman leading the way and immediately taking Louis’ hand as the man hangs back a step.

“Darling,” she says to Harry, “she’s wonderful!”

“Thank you, Aunt Shirley,” Harry says dutifully, leaning in to kiss her great-aunt’s cheek. “This is Louis, you can talk directly to her, you know.”

“Louis!” Aunt Shirley says, as if to announce her presence to the group. She squeezes Louis’ hand. “Darling, how wonderful it is to meet you!”

Harry walks around her to hug the man Louis presumes is her uncle, leaving Louis more or less on her own and surrounded. 

“Congratulations,” Louis manages as Anne and Aunt Shirley close in on her. “It’s so nice of you to include me in your special night.”

Anne and Aunt Shirley gasp and look at each other, starting to squeal.

“That is so thoughtful, Louis,” Anne praises. “What is your mother’s name, I have half a mind to call her and tell her what good manners her daughter has.”

“Yes, where are you from, dear?” Aunt Shirley asks. “The Bay Area?”

“I’m a transplant, actually,” Louis replies. “From Houston originally, my family is still there.”

“Oh, that must be hard,” Anne says sympathetically. “That’s what, a four-hour flight?”

“Oh, longer than that, I think,” Aunt Shirley says to Anne. “Four and a half, maybe.”

“How often do you get home, Louis?” Anne asks, taking a step closer to her. “Christmas? What about Thanksgiving? We always do dinner at my parents’ house, you should come this year!”

“Harry always helps with desserts,” Aunt Shirley adds. “That girl should have been a baker. Have you had her cherry pie yet?”

“Okay, okay, leave the poor girl alone.”

Louis looks toward the male voice at her side to find the elderly man she thinks is Uncle Kenny winking at her conspiratorially.

“Oh, Kenny, you’re no fun!” Aunt Shirley says, but she does relinquish Louis’ hand. “We were just getting to know Harry’s young lady!”

“Well, it’s my turn,” Uncle Kenny responds, bowing slightly to his wife. “Now, Louis, I can’t help but notice you don’t have a drink. May I escort you to the bar?”

“Thank you,” Louis says, trying to keep her voice even so the women don’t know how desperate she is for the reprieve. “That would be lovely.”

Uncle Kenny crooks his arm and Louis rests her hand on his elbow as he leads to the bar on the other side of the room. Several full champagne flutes have been set out for guests and Uncle Kenny picks up one for each of them.

“Now, Louis,” he says lowly, leaning in so she can hear over the din. “Let’s have a toast to our escape.”

Louis laughs and clinks glasses with him before they both take a sip.

“I haven’t properly introduced myself,” he says, beckoning her to follow as he takes a few steps away from the crowd around the bar. “I’m Kenny, you can call me Uncle Kenny, all the young folk do, and I use he/him pronouns.”

“Oh,” Louis says, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice. “Oh, well, it’s nice to meet you. Uncle Kenny. I’m Louis and my pronouns are she/her.”

“Shirley might seem a little overbearing,” he remarks, looking over at his wife holding court across the room. “But we both try to keep up with the times. One of the young folk at a homeless shelter we volunteer at was telling us a few weeks ago that it’s helpful for cisgender allies to normalize things like stating pronouns, so I’ve been trying it out. It’s important not to lose sight of your privilege, don’t you think?”

“Yes, definitely,” Louis rushes to say. “I completely agree. I’m sorry, I just wasn’t expecting that–”

“From an old man like me?” Kenny interrupts with a wink.

“It’s just that my older relatives back home,” Louis starts, trying to be diplomatic. “Well, they aren’t quite as…”

“Woke,” Kenny finishes for her, his crooked grin remarkably similar to Harry’s despite the fact that they’re not blood relatives. 

“Woke,” Louis agrees with a laugh. “You know, Uncle Kenny, Gemma mentioned that you and Shirley still go to protests pretty regularly. I wonder if we’ve crossed paths before without realizing it.”

“Oh, it’s possible,” Kenny nods, rocking back on his heels. “Even likely. Just last week we were outside the courthouse at a pro-impeachment rally.”

“I walked by there!” Louis says, resting a hand on Kenny’s elbow. “I would have stopped, but I had a meeting that I couldn’t miss.”

“That’s too bad,” Kenny replies, shaking his head. “It was a lovely day for a protest, we had perfect weather.”

Louis notices that they’ve both managed to finish their champagne already and holds a hand out to take Kenny’s glass. “Refill? I’d really love to hear more about your activism, how you and Shirley got to be so involved, if you don’t mind.”

“Mind?” Kenny chuckles, handing her his empty glass. “You’d be doing me a favor, Louis. Shirley’s the one who loves big parties, I’m much happier in the corner talking one on one.”

After Louis grabs refills, they talk in the corner for close to an hour, the time flying by as Kenny describes the causes he and Shirley had found together early in their marriage and the ways they had worked together to further them. Louis notices that Kenny glosses over the time surrounding the tragedy that Harry and Gemma had warned her was so triggering for them, and she doesn’t press him on it, letting him regale her with a list of all the times he’s been pepper-sprayed by the police. She’s so invested in the conversation that she doesn’t notice when Harry walks over to them until she wraps her arm around Louis’ shoulder.

“I hate to break this up,” she says regretfully, “but Shirley sent me, she wants to do a toast.”

“Alright, alright,” Kenny grumbles goodnaturedly. “I suppose that was enough introvert time for me. Harry, your young companion here is simply delightful. Louis, I very much enjoyed talking with you.”

“I enjoyed it too, sir,” Louis says sincerely, shaking his hand before he walks off in search of his wife. “Harry, I love your great-uncle.”

“He’s the best, isn’t he?” Harry replies, squeezing Louis’ shoulder. She ducks in to whisper, “Say, Lou, the whole room is watching us. Is it okay if I kiss you?”

The din of the crowd fades as Louis’ heart rate picks up. They’ve gotten extremely comfortable with casual displays of affection, and Louis thinks touch might actually be one of Harry’s love languages from the way she uses it to reassure Louis and the way it seems to reassure her. But their practice kiss has been their only actual kiss so far. But this is why they practiced, so it wouldn’t be a big deal. It’s not a big deal. 

“Sure, Harold,” she murmurs, turning to Harry and running her fingers through Harry’s curls. “Let’s give the people what they want.”

Harry rolls her eyes at that, but then she cups Louis’ jaw with her hand, her skin warm as usual, and nuzzles their noses together before dipping her head and kissing Louis softly. Louis’ eyes drift closed as Harry kisses her once, twice more, the taste of whiskey just barely detectable on her plush lips. The kiss is gentle, soft, more comforting than anything. It’s exactly how Louis imagined kissing a woman would feel back when she still occasionally let men – no, _boys_ – kiss her so that no one would know she was different from the other girls. She used to hate it, how their stubble would scratch at her skin, how eager they always were to take more than she wanted to give, thrusting their tongues into her mouth in kisses that were always too wet, too forceful, too something. It’s not just that Harry’s a woman, though. They’ve become friends now, they’ve established a connection, so that must be how Harry can be so attuned to Louis’ body language, how she knows instinctively what Louis is comfortable with, never pressing for more.

In fact she draws back even before Louis wants her to, pulling her into a hug and whispering, “thank you,” into her ear. The clink of silverware against glass at the front of the room breaks the moment, drawing their attention.

“We would like to thank you all for coming to celebrate with us tonight,” Aunt Shirley says, gesturing to Kenny who’s standing next to her. “Fifty years ago, I married the love of my life. Now my sister, Florence, who’s over there, she asked me, ‘Shirley, are you sure he’s the one? He’s not very… exciting.’”

Kenny pulls a face and everyone laughs. An older woman at the side of the room calls out, “I have _apologized_ for that,” eliciting more laughs and cheers. 

Shirley motions for the crowd to quiet down as she continues, “And I suppose she was right. Kenny wasn’t the most exciting man we had ever met. Back then, all the young men we knew wore bell bottoms and patterned shirts, a bit like our niece Harry, actually.”

Harry squawks indignantly next to her, and Louis laughs, guessing this isn’t the first time her family has gently teased her about her sartorial choices.

“And Kenny, he had wire-rimmed glasses, dressed more like our father than our contemporary, really. But what Flo didn’t understand at the time was that I didn’t want exciting. I wanted a partner, an equal, someone who wanted me to shine just as much, if not more than him. I wanted someone honest and loyal, not someone just looking for a good time. I wanted a love deeper than I’d ever had before, one that could sustain me for a lifetime. Exciting is fleeting. It’s not built to last. But don’t blame Flo for asking, although I did plenty at the time. It’s not her fault, you see, because it wasn’t until I met Kenny that I knew what I wanted. That I knew he was what I wanted. This man next to me is my best friend. He has supported me for most of my life, validating me and believing in me and celebrating me. He has given me a life I didn’t even know I could ask for when Flo and I were young and foolish.”

She scans the room, pointing at Gemma and then Harry when she locates them. 

“And this might sound silly to the young folk we have here with us tonight,” she says. “After all, the world has changed. But fifty years ago, my Kenny was the exception, not the rule. I have been very lucky in my life, and it’s all down to one day in a diner when a young man in a sweater vest and slacks came over and asked me for the time. Even though the watch he was wearing was ticking along just fine. I thank whatever higher powers there are every day that I asked him to sit down with us, because I don’t know what my life would have been like if not for him.” She turns to Kenny, whose eyes are welling with tears. “Thank you, sweetheart. I love you. Happy anniversary.”

Shirley gives Kenny a quick kiss on the cheek and he shrugs to the cheering crowd.

“Well, I feel a bit silly now,” he says to the room. “I was going to tell you all how I decided to marry Shirley because she was the most exciting woman I had ever met.”

Everyone laughs and Shirley faux gasps, putting her hand over her chest.

“Now, I’m not as good at speeches as my wife,” Kenny continues, “so I’ll just say that Shirley and I balance each other out pretty well, as you may have noticed by now. My wife has enriched my life beyond measure, and I am very happy that we get to share this night with all of you.” 

The crowd cheers, lifting their glasses to the happy couple. Neither Louis nor Harry have a drink to toast with, but they’re too busy wiping tears from their eyes to mind.

“Wow,” Louis says, turning to Harry. “They’re amazing.”

“I know,” Harry says wistfully, looking over as Shirley and Kenny clink their glasses. “I just… I want what they have, you know? I always have.”

“Of course you do,” Louis says, tugging Harry closer by her belt loop. “Who wouldn’t?”

“Lots of people,” Harry says darkly. “Lots of people choose fleeting excitement over something lasting.”

“But the thing is, Harold,” Louis says, tugging again until Harry makes eye contact, “you’re all those things Shirley said about Kenny, the bits about being loyal and honest and the rest, but what people might be too stupid to realize is that you’re also exciting. You’re steadfast and dependable, but you would make every day of your life with your partner fun and exciting. You’re the whole package.”

Harry looks at her sadly, apparently unconvinced, but before she can say anything, party guests start to swarm them, eager to be introduced to Harry’s date. Louis meets both of Harry’s grandparents and a slew of their friends who have watched Harry grow up and can’t wait to tell Louis embarrassing stories about her. They ply her with drinks, but she manages to stay pleasantly buzzed, never reaching the stage of being drunk, as she mingles for the rest of the party. Harry shakes off her dark mood after a while, laughing and chatting alongside Louis.

As the night winds down and people start to leave, Harry’s grandparents come over to say good night. 

“We are so pleased to meet you, Louis,” Grandma Florence says, taking Louis’ hands in hers. She squeezes them before holding them up to admire Louis’ unpolished nails. “Look at these neatly trimmed nails!”

Louis throws a questioning glance to Harry, who’s rolling her eyes.

“You should have seen the last one, Louis,” Florence clucks, shaking her head. “What was her name? Camilla? It was the strangest thing, she had nice long, manicured nails… but not every finger! These two–” she squeezes Louis’ index and middle finger “–were trimmed right down to the quick!”

Louis furrows her brow, nodding in agreement with Harry’s grandmother, knowing if she makes eye contact with Harry, she won’t be able to stifle her laughter at this kind woman’s confusion over the manicure of someone who’s clearly a top. As it is, Harry is coughing next to her, trying to hide her giggles.

“It’s just so wonderful that Harry has met a nice girl,” she continues, releasing Louis’ hands as her husband helps her into her coat. “And high time, too, what with her thirtieth birthday this year. I already had two children by the time I was thirty. Oh, Harry, you should have brought Louis to your birthday dinner! What a shame, we could have met this lovely girl over a month ago.”

Shit. She doesn’t know how they could have forgotten to cover birthdays when they planned out their story. Louis tries to keep her face blank as Harry’s grandmother looks at her accusingly.

“Sorry, Gran,” Harry says, leaning and kissing her grandmother on the cheek. “I just wanted to keep her to myself for awhile.”

“I suppose that’s understandable,” Grandma Florence murmurs, patting Harry’s cheek and then Louis.’ “Goodbye, you lovely girls. Get home safe!” 

It takes about half an hour to bid the rest of their goodbyes, doling out hugs and kisses on the cheek and promises to see everyone at the next gathering. Louis excuses herself to go to the restroom while Harry and Robin are talking, and when she walks back into the private room, Anne corners her.

“So, Louis,” she says, taking Louis’ hands in hers. “I know we all, myself included, might seem a little crazy.”

“Oh, no, no,” Louis laughs nervously. “Not at all.”

“You don’t have to lie, you wonderful girl,” Anne says, squeezing her hands. “Over-involved, then. But there’s a reason I’m so anxious for Harry to find someone and it’s not just that I want to see her settled or think it’s time she started giving me grandbabies. It’s just that Harry is a special person, she always has been. The kind you want to protect from all of the bad things. She’s sensitive, and her feelings run deep, whether she’s in pain or whether she’s happy. There’s this wonderful intensity to her that not everyone can appreciate. And she has so much love to give. I just want her to find the person who deserves it. Someone who sees all the good in her that we do. Because she’s my baby, and that’s what she deserves. You understand?” 

“I understand,” Louis says, glancing over at Harry. She’s thrown her head back, laughing at something Robin said. She’s beautiful. “That’s what I want, too. I promise.”

“I’m glad we understand each other,” Anne says, drawing Louis into a hug. “Thank you, Louis. I’m so glad I got the chance to finally meet you.”

“Bye, Mom,” Harry says, walking up to hug her mother around the shoulders and kiss her cheek. “We’re actually leaving now.”

“Love you, sweetheart! And Louis–”

“It was _so nice_ to meet you,” Harry finishes for her, taking Louis’ hand and pulling her toward the doorway. They both wave at the stragglers on their way out, finally escaping into the cool night air. Harry bites her lip. “Look, Lou, I know they’re–”

“Wonderful,” Louis interrupts, looking Harry in the eye. “They’re wonderful. I loved them, Harry. I really did.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, they… I mean, they love you so much. And yeah, they’re a little–”

“Insane?”

“–overbearing, but they were so welcoming and kind. It was just… it was nice. It was a really nice night.”

Harry rakes her hand through her curls. “Do you feel like walking?” 

“Actually, yeah,” Louis says, looking down the block and spotting the street signs at the intersection. “There’s a bus stop a few blocks down, we could get some air on our way there.”

“That would be great,” Harry says, turning in the direction they need to go. “I had a good time, too, but it was just a lot. Kind of loud and it got really warm in there, you know?”

Louis hums in agreement as they fall into step.

“I really loved your Uncle Kenny,” she remarks, thinking back on their conversation at the beginning of the party. “It was so cool hearing him talk about all the demonstrations they’ve gone to and everything. It was like… inspiring. You know?”

“Oh, I know,” Harry replies, glancing at her. “I’ve been around him and Shirley my whole life, they’ve been a huge influence on me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, of course. They used to take me and Gemma with them to volunteer and attend rallies, we went door to door with them talking to voters about Prop 8…”

“That’s amazing,” Louis says for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. “I’m kind of… I mean, this will sound silly, but I’m kind of jealous?”

“That’s not silly, Lou,” Harry says warmly, taking Louis’ hand. “Not at all.”

“I wish I’d had that growing up,” Louis says, slowing her pace slightly. The night air just feels so good against her overheated skin. “I mean, we went to a soup kitchen with our church a few times, but nothing like what you’re talking about.”

Harry matches Louis’ pace, squeezing her hand in silent encouragement to continue.

“I feel like I’m realizing that I haven’t really found something like that of my own? I was so focused in school because I knew I would need scholarships, and then I was so focused on making the grades I needed to keep those scholarships. Then I went to work at a big firm so I could pay down my student debt and it just ate up all of my bandwidth for a few years. And then…”

“Then what?”

“Then when I met Zayn,” Louis continues, thinking aloud. “I guess I kind of made her my whole focus or something? Like… instead of finding an interest of my own, she was my interest? I let everything become about her, and her music. You know how Liam was telling you my walls were still bare?”

Harry nods.

“She came over a couple of weeks ago and pointed it out. I didn’t even think about it, putting something of my own up where Zayn’s posters used to be. And Liam was saying how we hadn’t hung out, just the two of us, in a really long time, and she was right. Because I was always with Zayn.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, Lou,” Harry murmurs. “It’s easy to get kind of lost in a relationship.”

They fall into silence for the next block as thoughts swirl in Louis’ brain. Maybe that’s why it was so hard when Zayn left so abruptly, because Louis had let everything revolve around her for so long. She doesn’t know when she became this person, someone who would lose themself in a relationship like that. Someone who would spend months wallowing over a woman who didn’t give her a second thought. Someone who avoided her friends. Someone with no interests of her own. Someone so pathetic.

“I can practically hear you beating yourself up in there,” Harry says gently, tapping Louis’ head. “Please don’t, Lou. Please?”

Louis looks over Harry’s kind face. She honestly has no idea how she ever could have been so self-involved that she could have met this beautiful human being and forgotten. Well, enough. Louis doesn’t have to be that person anymore.

“I’ll try,” she promises. “I really will.”

“Thank you,” Harry says, leading her toward the bus stop. She leans against the sign, looking at Louis thoughtfully. “You know what you’d be really good at, Lou?”

“What’s that, Harry?”

“Being on the board of a non-profit. Don’t you think? You could use your law degree, and you seem like you’d be a really good leader, people would listen to you. And there’s a million different organizations you could get involved with, I could help you find one. Something like that could be really fulfilling, I think.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Louis replies, surprised to find that she means it. “That’s actually a really good idea, Harry. I–”

She breaks off, unsure how to put what she’s feeling into words. The bus pulls up in front of them and they climb on, taking two seats together near the front.

“You’re just a really good person,” Louis says at last, resting her hand on Harry’s knee. “I’m just really glad we met.”

“Me too, Lou,” Harry murmurs, laying her hand on top of Louis.’ “Me too.”

There’s not much more to say than that, and they fall into an easy silence, both looking out the window at the inky night sky dotted with stars.

*

Scanning the awnings of the storefronts as she makes her way down the busy street near the Castro, Louis curses Liam for making her pick up the cake. The bachelorette party cake which, as far as Louis is concerned, isn’t even a thing. Now she’s going to have to double back to bring it to Liam and Sophia’s apartment when they’re all going to end up by this neighborhood in a few hours anyway. They could have just gone to the bakery together as a group and eaten it there. Or, better yet, they could have picked it up and taken it to one of the bars on their itinerary for the night.

This is just poor planning on Liam’s part is what it is.

The bakery finally comes into view just as Louis was giving up hope of ever finding it. She hurries through the door and heads for the counter, her shoulders sagging in relief when she sees that there’s no line. After giving the friendly woman behind the counter Liam’s last name and double checking the order number that Liam had texted, Louis dawdles by the glass bakery case while she waits. All of the pastries are just so pretty that Louis can’t help but admire them even though she doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth herself. A colorful display of macarons arranged in rainbow order (although six colors instead of eight) catches her eye, and Louis wonders if Sophia has ordered any for the wedding reception. She’s about to text her when she sees the cupcakes next to the macarons: lemon lavender flavored, with light purple frosting.

Lavender. It’s always going to remind her of Harry’s scent now.

Louis thinks back to the anniversary party last weekend, when Grandma Florence mentioned Harry’s birthday. The memory is tinged with regret; even though she and Harry weren’t friends then like they are now, Louis now knows that Harry’s birthday fell after the first couple of times that Louis had met her – and forgotten her. Even though Harry swears it’s fine and she doesn’t mind, Louis still feels like a dick. Maybe she can rummage up a spare birthday candle in one of Liam and Sophia’s junk drawers for a belated celebration. As an apology, even if Harry doesn’t need one. 

Because she deserves one.

“Here we are.” The woman behind the counter sets down a large pink cardboard box wrapped with string. “Will there be anything else for you today?”

“Actually, yes,” Louis says, pulling out her wallet. “One of the lemon lavender cupcakes, please.”

“Oh, yum,” the woman says, walking behind the bakery case. “My favorite, you’ll love it.”

“Thanks, but it's not for me,” Louis says, handing over her card. “It's for my girlfriend.”

*

The party is in full swing by the time Louis gets there. Liam and Sophia’s apartment is packed with friends, all dressed up and chattering excitedly. It reminds Louis of walking into the anniversary party, although no one pauses their revelry to get a good look at her. Louis smiles at the scene in front of her; with any luck, she’ll still be celebrating with these people when she’s Shirley and Kenny’s age.

“Louis!” Liam appears at her side and takes the pink cardboard box from her. “You’re a lifesaver, thank you so much. Sophia was stuck at the tailor all afternoon, and I had to set up here, there was no way we were going to make it there by–”

“It’s okay, Lima Bean,” Louis interrupts, clapping her back. “It’s all part of my bridesmaidly duties, right?”

“That’s not a word,” Liam helpfully points out, before Louis gives her a gentle push in the direction of the kitchen. She calls over her shoulder, “Grab a drink! Rita already started going over charts!”

Louis spots Rita, a friend of Liam’s, in the corner, going over a sheet of paper with Lou. Their heads are bent together and they look very serious. Louis smothers the urge to roll her eyes, not wanting to be rude. When Liam had replied to Louis’ bachelorette party RSVP asking for the precise time and location of her birth, she’d thought that Liam had finally cracked under the pressure of the wedding. But apparently astrology and birth charts are the first half of their night as part of a compromise that Liam and Sophia had reached in order to combine parties. Louis doesn’t pay too much attention to that kind of thing, she’s really more here for the bar hopping second half of their night, but she’d supplied the information, knowing it would make Sophia (and by extension, Liam) happy. 

Hanging back by the door, Louis scans the room until she locates Harry pouting in the corner. The reason for the pout isn’t immediately apparent, but it doesn’t seem too serious; there’s no deep crease between her eyebrows. Still, this simply won’t do. This is the only wedding-related event with the sole purpose of letting loose and just _having fun._ Luckily, Louis has just the thing to cheer her up in a small paper bag from the bakery in her hand. She makes a beeline for Harry, frowning when she doesn’t light up at the sight of her.

“What’s wrong?” Louis asks by way of greeting, placing the paper bag on the floor before resting a hand lightly above Harry’s hip. “You look upset.”

“Not _upset,”_ Harry sighs, leaning in to talk by Louis’ ear, either because it’s loud or because she’s embarrassed. “Sophia said I look like a house painter.”

Louis draws back to give Harry a onceover. She’s wearing a white jumpsuit, which Louis assumes is the basis for the painter comment, but she’s gorgeous as always in it. It’s unbuttoned just enough to show that Harry’s wearing a white t-shirt with Posh Spice screened on it underneath, and she’s added her pearl necklace to complete the look. When Louis flicks her eyes up to Harry’s face, she notices something unusual about Harry’s pout.

“Are you wearing lipstick?” she asks, her hand drifting up to Harry’s jaw.

“Sophia said I had to,” Harry whines, turning so that only Louis can see her face. “She made me stand still while she put it on me because I’m not ‘dressy enough.’”

“Well, that’s stupid, you wore your pearls,” Louis says, smiling at the air quotes and rubbing her thumb over Harry’s cheek. “Very dressy. This color is so pretty on you, though; it’s a nice red. Not cherry, a little softer. Strawberry?”

Harry nods, shuffling closer to Louis and putting her hands on Louis’ hips. 

“You don’t need it,” Louis says honestly, looking from Harry’s eyes to her lips and back again. “But it is nice on you. And I love your outfit, it suits you perfectly. You don’t look like a painter all, you look like _Harry._ And that’s exactly how you should look. But you don’t need me to tell you that, do you?”

Harry pouts ridiculously, puffing out her painted lower lip, but she shakes her head.

“I hope Sophia didn’t hurt your feelings,” Louis says, caressing Harry’s jaw. “She just likes things a certain way, and she’s just not as quirky as you are, yeah?”

Harry nods, begrudgingly by the looks of it, causing Louis to laugh.

“Here,” she says, pulling Harry closer. “Can I have some?”

It takes a moment for Louis’ meaning to click, but Harry nods once it does, her eyes drifting closed as Louis leans in to kiss her soft lips. It’s gentle and fleeting and probably not enough to mute the red lipstick but it’s enough to make Harry smile again, which is what Louis wanted.

“There’s my girl,” Louis says, patting her cheek. “I got you something.”

“Really?” Harry squeals, finally lighting up at those words, clapping her hands together. “What is it? What is it?”

“Here,” Louis laughs, picking up the small paper bag from the floor. “Open it and see.”

Harry takes the paper bag from her and pulls the handles apart, peering inside. She looks up with wide eyes.

“A cupcake?”

“A cupcake,” Louis nods, starting to feel a bit silly. She doesn’t even know if Harry likes cupcakes. “I saw it and thought of you.”

Harry tilts her head, a question in her raised eyebrows.

“It’s lemon lavender,” Louis explains, gesturing toward the bag. “You, um… I noticed your shampoo smells like lavender, so now it reminds me of you and well, um… this is dumb, isn’t it?”

“No, Lou,” Harry exclaims, resting her hand on Louis’ arm. “Not at all, I love it! You didn’t have to get me anything, though.”

“I know,” Louis insists, rubbing the back of her neck. “I know, I just saw it at the bakery and I thought of you and I remembered about missing your birthday…”

Harry’s green eyes are suspiciously shiny.

“Listen, I know you don’t want me to keep apologizing for being self-involved and feeling sorry for myself and not remembering you, and I know you don’t want me to keep thanking you for everything, so it’s just, like, a happy belated birthday thing. I was thinking I could find a spare candle in the kitchen–”

“No, no,” Harry interrupts, pulling the cupcake out of the bag. “I don’t want to wait that long.”

She swipes a finger through the frosting and boops Louis’ nose, laughing when Louis squawks. Then she pulls back the wrapper and sticks her tongue out before proceeding to fit at least half of the cupcake in her mouth in one bite, chewing and swallowing with glee. Louis wipes the frosting off her nose as Harry attempts to fit the rest of the cupcake in her mouth, moaning in satisfaction.

“You’re disgusting,” Louis says fondly, glancing around the room as Harry smacks her lips. She catches sight of Zayn watching them from across the room and bristles. She hadn’t been thinking about Zayn or anyone else in the room since she’d found Harry; despite the noise, she’d kind of forgotten they were all there. Comforting Harry, giving her the cupcake – that wasn’t part of some act. It had been a private moment between two friends, and the idea of Zayn observing it doesn’t sit right with her. It’s none of her business.

“Do you want a drink?” Harry asks, recapturing her attention. Her usual grin has replaced the pout from earlier, and Louis pokes her finger against Harry’s dimple.

“Sure, lead the way.”

Once they both have rosé in hand, they start to mingle with their friends in the large living room. Zoe and Selena describe their bridesmaid dresses (pink and yellow, respectively) in excruciating detail and Harry hangs on every word, asking followup questions like she’s actually interested. Maybe she is, but Louis knows by now that Harry has a gift with people, a way of making them feel like they’re the sole focus of her attention, like they’re the most fascinating person she’s ever spoken to. Louis wonders idly how many people have fallen half in love with her after just one conversation.

“Tommo!” Niall greets her with a smacking kiss to the cheek, ruffling her hair as she asks, “So Liam roped you into picking up the cake, huh? Sucker.”

“Excuse me, Neil,” Louis replies, hip checking her. “It’s called being a good friend.”

“What was with the cupcake?” Niall asks, jerking her chin toward Harry, who’s distracted by the dress talk. “We’re all having cake in a little bit anyway.”

“None of your beeswax,” Louis mutters into her glass before draining it.

Niall hums knowingly and Louis rolls her eyes. There’s nothing to know, so there’s no need for Niall to look so smug.

“Did you get your reading or whatever yet?” Louis asks, eyeing the table Rita is camped out at in the corner. “Was it spooky?”

“It’s not a seance,” Niall scoffs, grabbing a wine bottle from Liam as she tries to scoot around them. “It’s just like zodiac stuff. Your sun and moon, that kind of thing.”

“It’s surprisingly accurate,” Liam informs them, waiting patiently as Niall refills glasses before handing the empty wine bottle back. “I’m _such_ a Virgo, Lou.”

Louis snorts, remembering Harry and Bebe’s banter from the day they went dress shopping. Harry turns to her, with raised eyebrows and a wide grin, and for some reason the eye contact makes Louis laugh harder. The longer Louis laughs, the more bemused Harry looks, finally honking a loud laugh and clapping her hand over her mouth as they both collapse into giggles.

“What was that?” Selena asks, not unkindly.

“I made her laugh,” Louis says proudly, rubbing Harry’s shoulder while she wipes tears of laughter from her eyes.

“Disgusting, aren’t they?” Niall asks, shaking her head and ducking as Louis tries to swat her while everyone chuckles.

“Oh, Lou Lou,” Liam says suddenly. “I saw your Insta story! I love that Megan Rapinoe poster you put up in the living room.”

“I didn’t see,” Harry exclaims, rummaging in her pocket and pulling out her phone. “I was editing photos all day. Is it the pose, you know that one...” 

She looks up as Louis, Niall and Liam all strike a pose, holding their arms out in victory with beatific smiles on their faces, and everyone laughs. The conversation turns to the U.S. Women’s National Team and from there general thirst for the team members, but Louis doesn’t miss the small, private smile Harry gives her after pocketing her phone. She nods, in both acknowledgment and thanks for the push, hoping that Harry understands. 

Just as Louis finishes her glass of wine, Sophia walks up, pointing at her. “It’s your turn, hon,” she announces. “Rita’s all ready for you and your big Capricorn energy.” 

Louis squints at her, wondering if she’s about to reapply the lipstick that Harry has demolished at this point by force. 

“Come on, baby,” Louis says, grabbing Harry’s hand as she decides to kill two birds with one stone. “Keep me company. See you on the other side, brothers!”

She pulls Harry through the crowd and they arrive at the table in the corner, breathless and flushed – with victory in Louis’ case, maybe with rosé in Harry’s. Rita beams at them, gesturing toward the empty chairs across from her.

“Hiya, babes!” she greets them, shuffling through her papers. “Sit down, sit down, I’ll just grab your chart, too, Harry. This is exciting, I haven’t done a couples’ reading before!”

Louis grimaces at Harry while Rita’s not looking, and they giggle together.

“Thanks, Rita,” Harry manages, pinching Louis’ side. “We’re excited, too!”

“How did you get into this, anyway?” Louis asks, batting away Harry’s hand. “Reading charts?”

“Part of my search for meaning after I finally left the church that I grew up in,” Rita sighs, plucking a piece of paper from her stack. She sets the rest of the papers next to an open notebook in front of her. “Honestly, babes, I can’t tell you how healing astrology has been for me.”

“How do you mean?” Louis asks curiously. She’s never taken this kind of thing very seriously – zodiac traits are hit and miss for her and horoscopes seem made up most of the time – and she’s definitely never heard it described as healing before. 

“Think about it,” Rita says, pausing to take a sip of wine and flip to a new page in her notebook. “For centuries, people have been able to find meaning, a greater sense of purpose through their faith, their religion. But what about all of us queers who’ve been excluded from the narrative? Who’ve been told we’re wrong or bad, that we’re sinning just by living an authentic life? It’s no wonder so many of us turn to astrology – it’s different, it’s not as tied to the patriarchy. It can connect us with something larger than ourselves without the politics that come with institutionalized religion.”

“Wow,” Harry says as Louis sits speechless next to her. “I’ve never thought of it that way.” 

“I didn’t either for a long time,” Rita says, placing her hand over her heart. “I used to think it was silly, or just for fun. But you’ll see when I get to your charts, astrology offers insight into who we were born to be, and infinite options for articulating our needs and accessing our gifts. It can provide some context for the cycles that we're in, both personally and collectively. It’s just such a powerful, inclusive instrument we can add to our toolbox of coping skills for life, you know?”

“So it’s not just a hobby for you?” Louis asks, wincing at how inadequate her question is and hoping it doesn’t come across as rude.

“Well, I don’t practice professionally,” Rita says, shrugging and thankfully seemingly unbothered. “Yet. I’d love to make my living doing readings and having retreats and everything someday, but that’s, like, years down the road, if I can even get there. Have to keep my day job for now.”

“You work with Liam, right?” Harry asks, pushing her half-full wine glass over to Louis, as if she can sense that she needs it. “At the practice or at the animal shelter?”

“The shelter, actually,” Rita answers, looking pleased. “She’s the best vet we work with, she has the best bedside manner. I’m in Operations, but I always try to stop by on her days.”

“Harry’s friend has a cat café,” Louis mentions after taking a sip of Harry’s wine. “They work with a shelter to help adopt out cats, maybe you’ve heard of it. Glitter Cat Café?”

“Really?” Rita asks excitedly. “I’ve heard good things about Glitter Cat, I’ve been dying to get over there and check it out.”

“Go first thing when they open,” Louis says sagely. “The cats are more active then. Right, baby?”

She turns to Harry, expecting to see her nodding but instead Harry’s staring at Louis with an intense, kind of peculiar expression on her face. With her eyebrows knitted together, she almost looks mad but something about the way she scrunches her nose and then bites her lip just makes her look a little goofy. Louis pokes her cheek until her dimple finally appears, crowing when her mission is accomplished.

Rita looks down at her notebook and then at the two sheets of paper in front of her and looks back up, nodding. 

“Mm-hm, that’s what I thought,” she murmurs, looking from Louis to Harry. “You two compliment each other perfectly.”

As she pushes the pieces of paper to the middle of the table, she turns them around so that Louis and Harry can read them. This does nothing to help Louis, though, since the circular chart is filled with symbols and numbers that make no sense to her.

“See,” Rita says, tapping her finger against Harry’s chart. “Harry, your chart is 80% air and water, with no earth or fire to ground you. And Louis, yours is the exact opposite, 80% earth and fire.” She looks up triumphantly. “Now other people might tell you that Aquarius and Capricorn are a bad match, but I don’t think so. Aquarius can push Capricorn to try new things and break out of their box, and Capricorn can provide steady support to Aquarius. I’m getting ahead of myself, though, we should look at your charts individually first.”

Liam wanders over and refills Louis’ empty wine glass, peering down at the charts over Louis’ shoulder. Louis smiles gratefully at her, picking up her glass and trying to not gulp the wine down all at once.

“A natal chart reading is something that can be so personal, Leeyum,” Rita chides, shooing her away. “Okay, where were we? Harry, you’re the Aquarius and as you can see here, your rising sign is Gemini and your moon is in Libra.”

“What does that mean?” Louis asks, looking down at Harry’s chart as if she can read it. “Don’t we all just have the one zodiac sign? You just said three different ones.”

“It has to do with the position of the planets when you were born,” Rita explains patiently, pointing toward the chart. “That’s what a natal chart is, the diagram of those positions, which we look to for important information about a person’s life. See, what you think of as your zodiac sign is specifically your sun sign – the sign on the chart that the sun was in when you were born. It reflects your core essence. For Harry, that’s Aquarius so she’s most likely a free spirit, an individualist, maybe a bit offbeat or eccentric.”

“Well, that’s all true,” Louis nods, glancing over at Harry and patting her knee. “Don’t you love her in this jumpsuit, Rita?”

“I do, actually,” Rita laughs. “And Posh Spice, that’s my girl!”

Harry preens at that, throwing a smug look in Sophia’s general direction over her shoulder.

“Your sun sign is just one piece of the puzzle, though,” Rita continues, pointing to another slice of the chart. “Rising sign is what was on the eastern horizon when you were born. It represents traits that you project to the world – so in Harry’s case, that’s Gemini, which means she’s probably very active, likes to go out and meet people, do different things. Very inquisitive, open to new experiences.”

“And then you said Libra moon, right?” Harry asks, bending her head to study the chart. 

“That’s right,” Rita confirms. She glances at Louis, who still feels pretty lost, and smiles kindly as she continues, “So, again, that’s the sign that the moon was positioned in on the chart when Harry was born, and that represents more of one’s inner life, their emotions. It’s, like, the side you don’t necessarily show other people. With Libra moon, we’d expect Harry to be very affectionate, warm and friendly, but someone who’s willing to overlook faults, who’d rather give in than argue. Maybe a people pleaser.”

Louis thinks back to all of the times that Harry has assured her something was fine when it was very clearly not fine and wonders if it’s possible that it’s really connected to where the moon was on the first of February, thirty years ago. Basically everything Rita has said rings true about Harry, and she and Louis do compliment each other pretty well. It could all be a coincidence. But maybe not.

“What about Louis?” Harry asks, tugging her lower lip with her forefinger and thumb. “She’s a Capricorn.”

“Ah, yes, Louis,” Rita replies, turning her attention to Louis’ chart. “Capricorns are goal-oriented, achievers who willingly take on responsibility. You work hard and take pride in your efforts. You might tend toward tunnel vision, blocking out distractions. Very persistent, tenacious even when you have a goal in mind.”

“That’s so Louis,” Harry says to Rita, shaking her head. “She works so hard, all the time.”

“I work a normal amount,” Louis mutters, but neither of them pay her any notice.

“Her rising sign is Aries,” Rita explains to Harry, tapping the chart. “So she does everything full-tilt, hundred miles an hour, lots of energy, great competitor. Confident, ambitious, passionate. Usually blunt and direct instead of dancing around things, and sometimes it might come across as unfeeling.”

This time Louis doesn’t bother protesting the negative note that Rita ends on. It’s nothing she hasn’t heard before, but she never means to hurt people’s feelings.

“Leo moon,” Rita pronounces, glancing at Louis. “Which means you need the validation of others, love, affection, reassurance–” 

“That’s okay,” Harry interrupts. “I like reassuring her.” 

Louis blushes, attempting to hide her face in her wine glass. She has to admit, she does like when Harry reassures her so it’s a relief to hear Harry say that she likes it, too. In all of her relationships, Louis has always been the one to take care of her partner and she’s never minded it. She likes being the protector, it comes naturally to her what with being the oldest sibling and all. If she’s really honest, though, needing reassurance, needing validation, has always felt deep down like a weakness. And if there’s one thing Louis hates, it’s appearing weak; she’ll do almost anything to avoid it. Including faking an entire relationship just to hide how she’d fallen apart after Zayn left, for fuck’s sake. 

Louis shakes her head to clear it, trying to catch up to Harry and Rita’s conversation. 

“...so you see, you challenge Louis and her comfort in the status quo. You inspire her, push her to make positive changes. Stop her from taking herself too seriously. And in return, she can ground you, make sure you don’t get ahead of yourself. Calm your anxiety. But you have to appreciate each other’s strengths and have common goals in mind in order for this pairing to work. Luckily you’re both extraordinarily stubborn, so if you put your minds to making it work, you will.”

“Who me, stubborn?” Louis asks innocently, batting her eyes at Harry.

“No deflecting,” Rita scolds her gently, flipping pages in her notebook. “I think they’re waiting on us to finish before serving the cake, so I want to get through a few more things.”

Harry wraps her arm around Louis’ shoulder and kisses her temple. “It’s surprisingly accurate, Louis,” she whispers earnestly as Rita checks her notes, in an eerily good imitation of Liam.

“So, Harry, as the air sign,” Rita says, looking up. “You’re the communicative one, the big talker. But Louis, as the earth sign, you prefer to let your actions speak louder than words. It’s important to be aware of those communication styles, so you can appreciate what each other is trying to say and how.”

“Like my cupcake,” Harry gasps, turning to Louis. “That’s an action, Lou!”

Louis shifts in her seat, unnerved by Harry’s enthusiasm. Surprisingly accurate, indeed. 

“Oh, another way you two differ,” Rita continues, “is that Capricorn is a yin sign and Aquarius is yang. This may sound contradictory to some of the other information I’ve given you, but the yin can actually be too passive or sacrificing and the yang can become domineering and aggressive – you balance each other out when things are going well, it’s when things aren’t going well that you can become polarized and these differences rear their ugly head.”

“We could get each get one of those cheesy yin yang tattoos,” Harry whispers. Louis snorts, earning a mildly disapproving look from Rita as Harry grins. 

“Okay, okay, almost done,” Rita murmurs down at her notes. “Oh, your signs are semisextile, which means one sign apart. Often times, the signs on either side of yours can stir up an instant love/hate vibe. Of course, all that friction can lead to explosive sexual chemistry, but I probably don’t need to tell you that, do I?”

She winks at them as Louis wishes the floor would open up and swallow her whole. Harry hides her blush in Louis’ neck so she forces a smile at Rita as she pats Harry’s curls. 

“And one last thing, you’ve probably noticed this as well, there can be a sense of understanding one another automatically when your signs are consecutive,” Rita says, closing her notebook. “In your case particularly, Aquarius will have the Capricorn figured out fast, which is convenient for the Capricorn who can sometimes have a rich inner life that others just don’t quite get.”

And, well. Fuck. That’s definitely true. Harry has been so attuned to Louis, right from the start, anticipating her moods and validating her feelings. Louis’ head is swimming with information and she definitely won’t remember all of it tomorrow, but she’s already well aware of how Harry just gets here, so there’s no chance of her forgetting that.

“Thank you so much, Rita,” Harry gushes, sitting up straight and clasping her hands to her chest. “This was fascinating, we appreciate it so much.” 

“You’re so welcome, babes,” Rita says, standing and walking around the table. Harry leaps up to wrap her long arms around Rita, swaying slightly as she embraces her. “I really enjoyed your reading, it was like opening up a whole new world working with a couple.”

Louis stands and gives Rita a hug, shorter than Harry’s but no less sincere. As they step apart, Louis glances at their charts on the table.

“Oh, don’t worry about holding onto those,” Rita says, gathering up papers and her notebook and stuffing everything into a tote bag. “Liam and Sophia gave me everyone’s email address, I’ll be sending you all a rundown of what we discussed.”

“Whatever they’re paying you isn’t enough,” Harry says, pushing in the chairs on their side of the table. “Can we buy you a drink later?”

“I won’t say no to that,” Rita laughs. “I happen to know they have the best cucumber martinis at–”

“Okay, guys,” Liam calls out, clapping her hands at the front of the room. “Attention! Attention, everyone! We’re going to do a toast and then cut the cake before we head out.”

“Harry,” Louis whispers, tugging the sleeve of Harry’s jumpsuit until she leans in closer. “A bachelorette party cake isn’t even a thing, is it?”

“Lou,” Harry says reprovingly. “A bachelorette party can be anything you want it to be. If that means cake to Liam and Sophia, then it is a thing.”

“I still don’t think it’s a thing,” Louis mutters, following Harry to gather at the edge of the crowd around Sophia lighting candles on the cake that Louis had picked up. “What are the candles for? What do they represent?”

“One for every year they’ve been together, dumbass,” Niall answers, coming up to stand on Louis’ left. “Honestly, it’s like you don’t even care.”

Louis tries to hide her laugh at the sarcasm dripping from Niall’s words as Harry looks on disapprovingly. She elbows Louis’ side to get her attention.

“Well, what would you do at your bachelorette party, then?” Harry asks, a hint of challenge in her deep voice, as Louis’ eyes fall on Zayn across the room, her arms wrapped around Gigi and her lips pressed against her cheek. 

A wedding of her own is a possibility that Louis hasn’t let herself think about since Zayn showed up with Gigi on her arm a few weeks ago. She pretends that she isn’t, but deep down Louis is a romantic. She always has been. When she and Zayn were together, and even during those miserable months that followed the breakup, a wedding was one of her favorite ‘someday’ things to think about. The location, the first dance, the vows – the details changed, but the one constant over the past couple of years was that it was Zayn standing up at the altar with her. 

Fuck. Open mic night freakout aside, she’d been doing so well. 

“Hey,” Harry says in her ear, “where’d you go just then? You were like a million miles away.”

“Nothing,” Louis says quickly, turning to her and ignoring the cheers that go up in the crowd. “Nowhere. You’re right, let them eat cake.”

Harry doesn’t look convinced, her eyebrows knitted together in concern, but she lets it go. The Aquarius, understanding the Capricorn innately. Thank god it had been Harry sitting at their table the night that Niall has suggested this crazy fake relationship idea. 

“Want me to grab you guys cake?” Niall asks, walking backward to the front of the room where Liam and Sophia are cutting slices. “Or did you get your fill earlier with that cupcake, Harry?”

“It’s a party,” Harry shrugs. “I’ll have cake.”

“Me too,” Louis calls after Niall, who’s edging her way to the front of the line. 

“Here we go, guys!” Sophia’s sister Zoe appears before them with a tray of plastic champagne flutes filled to the brim. “Last drink before we head out!”

They each take a glass from the tray and Zoe pauses, plucking something from her pocket.

“Oh, and Soph asked me to give this to you,” she says to Harry, holding out a tube of lipstick. “She said you can keep it in your purse.”

Zoe doesn’t wait for a reply, clearly in a rush to pass out the rest of the glasses, so she misses the smile on Harry’s face turn to a frown.

“You didn’t bring a purse, did you?” Louis asks, taking the lipstick from Harry.

“No, I…” Harry smooths her hand down the sides of her jumpsuit. “I have all these pockets. Lou, you would tell me if I looked like a house painter, right?”

“Probably not,” Louis admits, startling a laugh out of Harry. “But you don’t, I swear. Let me hold onto the lipstick, we can both put some on after cake, okay?”

“Okay,” Harry grumbles, downing her glass of champagne. “Where is Niall anyway?”

“Calm your tits, I’m right here.” Niall walks up, expertly balancing the small paper plates on her forearm. “Here you go, eat up. Our first stop is Last Call, I haven’t been there in ages.”

Louis can tell that bit of irony delights Harry by the way her eyes light up, but she’s known Niall long enough to know that she’s very serious about getting to the bar, so she pushes Harry’s plate up toward her face.

“Eat, eat,” Louis encourages her, setting down her glass so she can use the plastic fork to shovel cake into her own mouth. “Neil here is on a strict schedule, she takes her bar hopping seriously.”

They finish their cake and champagne, and Louis drags Harry by the wrist to Liam and Sophia’s bedroom so they can avoid helping with the cleanup and put on lipstick in private.

“I’m terrible at this,” Louis admits, taking the top off the lipstick. “I never wear the stuff. Hold still, okay?”

Harry takes a step closer to her and parts her lips. It’s impossible not to take a moment to admire her now that her eyes are closed. The lipstick is completely unnecessary, Harry’s thin but plush lips are a lovely natural dark pink. A light blush dusts her cheeks, most likely due to how crowded the party is, her dark eyelashes fanned out just above them. And her perfectly symmetrical face is framed by her wild, dark brown curls. She’s gorgeous, anyone would agree. It’s just a fact. 

Louis lifts a hand to steady Harry’s jaw, mentally cursing when she notices that the hand with the lipstick is shaking. Just her luck, Harry’s going to look like a clown when Louis’ done with her. Slowly, she raises her hand and gently, very gently, presses the lipstick against Harry’s bottom lip. It must have been obvious that Louis was taking too long going by the slight gasp Harry lets out at the contact, but Louis forges ahead, sliding the lipstick along her lower lip and then moving to color inside the natural line of Harry’s upper lip, concentrating on applying it evenly.

Once she’s done, she exhales, lowering her hands, but Harry doesn’t move, swaying slightly where she stands, her eyes still closed.

“Are you supposed to… um, I think you press your lips together now, like smear it around, right? Kleenex! Do you need a Kleenex? For blotting! Blotting is a thing, right? I’ve seen people doing that before.”

Harry slowly blinks her eyes open as Louis rambles, pressing her lips together. The lipstick doesn’t look too bad actually, Louis managed to keep it on her lips and not on the skin around her mouth. Harry turns to the mirror over the dresser, leaning in to assess her reflection.

“It’s perfect, Lou,” Harry says, making eye contact with her in the mirror. “You did really well. I don’t need a tissue, though.”

With that, Harry straightens up and turns, stepping into Louis’s space. She cups Louis’ jaw with her hands and bends her head, softly pressing their lips together. Louis gasps lightly, parting her lips, at the unexpected kiss, but then she remembers asking Harry for some of her lipstick earlier and it all makes sense. Her hands drift to Harry’s hips automatically as Harry kisses her again, surely ruining both of their faces but Louis can’t find it in herself to care. She’s felt more vulnerable tonight than she expected to, and here Harry is, the one person who innately understands, the one person who knows just when to reassure her. 

The one person who admittedly likes reassuring her. 

Once they part, Harry stays close to her, thumbing around Louis’ lip, no doubt fixing her lipstick. Her skin, as always, is so, so warm. As she stands still for her, Louis can’t help but envy the person who ends up with Harry. The person who will prove to be worthy of her, who will appreciate how steadfast she is and see the ways that she’ll make life exciting. The person who will be ready to accept all of the love she has to give, and return it in kind. That person, whoever they are, is very, very lucky.

“Wey-hey!” 

The sound of Niall’s voice in the hallway startles them apart.

“D’you see this, Li, the lovebirds are having a moment in your bedroom! Can you tell them to hurry up, we have a fleet of Lyfts arriving in like five minutes. Chop chop, people! Bars to hop to, drinks to drink.”

*

The third bar is where Rita insists everyone try the cucumber martinis, with varying degrees of success. Niall flat out refuses and orders her fifth Guinness of the night, Liam nods and smiles politely but Louis can tell she absolutely hates it, and Harry loves it, ordering a second one before she’s even done with the first. Louis is pleasantly buzzed enough that the vaguely healthy tasting cocktail doesn’t bother her much, but she switches up her next order to a Stella, throwing up a middle finger at Niall’s teasing over her cheap taste in beer. 

The large dance floor attracts most of their party right away, Sophia with her purposefully tacky white veil holding court in the middle of the throng. Harry’s content to slurp her cucumber martinis at the bar, so Louis doesn’t have to wade into the crowd just yet. Louis and Liam gather around Harry where she’s claimed the last stool, sitting with her back to the bar so she can chat with them, and everything’s fine until Zayn walks up to order a drink. Louis does her best to ignore her, but as Zayn reaches across the counter to take the martini glass from the bartender, Liam squeals.

“Is that another new tattoo, Z?” she asks, reaching out and gently turning Zayn’s arm to get a better look. “Oh, yin yang, right?”

Louis immediately squeezes Harry’s thigh, turning to her with wide eyes, but Harry’s too busy fishing for a thin slice of cucumber at the bottom of her glass to register what’s happening. Zayn is still holding her arm out so Liam can see the tattoo when she glances up and Louis pointedly looks from her to the tattoo and back again. Harry’s confused face is adorable, she looks like a disgruntled kitten trying to surmise what Louis is attempting to silently communicate. It takes a minute, but understanding finally dawns in her eyes and she claps her large hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking with laughter.

“What?” Zayn asks, throwing a dirty look at them.

“Nothing,” Louis manages in a strangled voice. “Nothing! Great tattoo. Harry? Shall we?”

She pulls Harry away from a scowling Zayn, smiling apologetically at Liam, whose mouth is caught between a smile and a frown as she waves while they walk away. 

The dance floor is packed, so Louis doesn’t bother trying to elbow her way to their friends, content to stand at the edges as Harry throws her arms around her, collapsing into laughter.

“Yin yang!” she giggles against Louis’ neck. “I can’t believe it.”

A cheer goes up in the crowd as the song changes to “Dancing Queen,” Louis and Harry included. They sing along with their new friends, the communal experience immediately bonding them with the strangers who surround them, and Harry starts dancing with abandon. Louis watches as she bends her arms at the elbow, holding up her hands with her thumbs up, shuffling around like a little old grandpa in her jumpsuit and pearls. 

She’s a nightmare. It’s adorable.

Louis gives up dancing herself, content to let Harry be the titular queen with her awkward dance moves. It’s so horribly endearing that it doesn’t even occur to Louis to be embarrassed.

“Get in losers!” Niall appears at Louis’ side, tugging Selena by the hand as Hailee trails behind them, glaring bloody murder at the two of them. “We’re going bar hopping!”

Harry pouts ridiculously and Louis is tempted to stay there with her – who leaves a bar just as “Toxic” is coming on? – but she doesn’t actually want to lose the group, so she places her hand at the small of Harry’s back and gently guides her toward the door.

“I think this is illegal,” Harry shouts once they get outside, as if to be overheard in the crowd that no longer surrounds them. “Depriving a queer woman of staying through all of ‘Toxic’ at a bar is a crime, isn’t it, Lou? You’re my lawyer, you tell her.”

She points viciously at Niall, who shrugs.

“Don’t blame me,” she says, checking her phone. “Lima’s the one who put the schedule into a spreadsheet. I’m just respecting the organizer.”

“But it's Britney,” Harry insists, scandalized, “bitch.”

“Rules control the fun, Harry,” Liam says, coming up behind them and patting Harry’s shoulder. “Okay, let me look, quick headcount… right, I think we’re all present and accounted for! Follow me, everyone.”

Harry mutters under her breath during the entire walk to the next bar, and Louis nods along, making noises of agreement when it seems called for, keeping her hand on Harry’s back until she ushers her through the door of the next bar.

“Oh! I know this place!” Harry turns to Louis with bright eyes. “My friend DJs here, we can go request ‘Toxic!’” She throws a dark look in Niall’s direction. “We should make Niall wait outside. I brought a cigarette again, you can trick her into going for a smoke when Nick plays it.”

“Whatever you say, baby,” Louis says mock seriously. She looks around the room, spotting the DJ booth in the corner. “Over there, right? We’ll go say hi to your friend.”

As Harry pulls Louis across the room, the DJ (Nick, apparently) starts a Lizzo song, so they get waylaid on the dance floor, tossing their hair and checking their nails. It turns out that Harry’s friend is an excellent DJ; they forget all about going to say hi as they dance to the next few songs, Louis giving Harry enough space to pull off her signature moves – that is, until Christina starts belting about wanting to get dirty and Harry pulls Louis in by the hips to grind with her. 

For someone who usually dances like a goofy dad at a barbeque and has tripped over their own feet on more than one occasion, when it comes to dancing together, Harry has rhythm, holding Louis close and guiding her body to move with hers. Normally, Louis prefers to lead – when dancing calls for it, in the office, organizing plans – but she loves the release that comes with letting Harry be in control. It’s like she’s the air sign, floating free but with Harry to keep her tethered to the ground so she doesn’t have to worry. It’s exhilarating.

She looks around the room, trying to see where Rita is so she can tell her later what a good reading that was if Louis can remember all of that hours and many drinks later. But just as she turns her face to the right, Harry moves to her left and their chins bump together. Neither of them laugh or wince or move; instead, they both still, staring into each other’s eyes for one long, breathless moment. 

The last thought that Louis registers before Harry kisses her is how dark Harry’s eyes are; there’s just a thin line of green around her dilated pupils. The sight in no way prepares her for the intensity of the kiss, the way that Harry holds the back of her head and tilts it just so as she licks into her mouth. It only takes a couple of seconds for Louis to catch up, gripping Harry’s hips and pulling her close so their bodies are pressed together.

Louis loses track of time as the rest of the bar fades into the background. One song might have passed, or it could have been five. As much as she loves Harry taking control, she gives back as good as she gets, matching Harry’s fervor as their tongues slide together until the taste of cucumber has faded entirely from Harry’s mouth. It’s different from the other kisses they’ve shared since the cat café; it’s not meant to comfort or reassure, it doesn’t feel platonic, and it sure as fuck doesn’t feel like it’s for the benefit of anyone but the two of them.

The opening notes of “Toxic” are what breaks them apart in the end; Harry jumping up and down and cheering. She starts dancing again, and Louis starts trying to pretend that her whole world hasn’t just shifted on its axis. What the absolute fuck was that? It takes the rest of the song for Louis’ heart rate to slow to a normal speed as thoughts swirl in her head. Clearly Harry wasn’t as affected by the kiss, she’s bouncing around and flailing her arms without a care in the world. 

Louis has always known that, objectively, Harry is a beautiful woman. They’ve gotten to know each other, and Louis sees know how she’s just as beautiful inside as out. And she’s gone above and beyond for Louis these past few weeks. Louis is just getting confused, that’s all. It would probably happen to anyone who found themselves in this insane situation. Not that this has ever happened to anyone outside of a TV movie before. Fucking Niall and her fucking great ideas. Louis is all turned around and it’s all her fault.

Louis sighs. No, it’s only partly her fault. Louis is the one who agreed to it. Louis is the one who should have known better, who should have known what she could handle. The only one not to blame at all is Harry. Kind, generous, lovely, exciting Harry, who doesn’t deserve to be made uncomfortable by Louis after doing this enormous favor for her. As she watches Harry twirl with abandon to her song, Louis makes up her mind. No more kissing. She should have known better when they talked about it, even practiced for god’s sake, at the café, but it’s not too late to nip this in the bud. 

Because the last thing she wants to do is hurt Harry. Even accidentally. 

And elbow to her side jolts Louis from her reverie. Niall stands there, eyes on Harry as she wordlessly holds out a colorful shot of something, Louis doesn’t know or care what. They clink glasses and down their shots as they watch Harry bend at the waist, lift her arms over her head and stomp her feet to the music.

“Another?” Niall asks.

Louis nods. “Another.”

* 

They’ve been on the road for about an hour when Louis realizes something.

“Harold,” she starts, propping her feet on the dashboard, “you are a terrible driver. Absolutely awful, how did I not know this about you?”

“Lou,” Harry whines, drawing the single syllable out for as long as she can. She turns her head to pout at Louis. “I’m a good driver!”

“Eyes on the road,” Louis laughs, pushing Harry’s chin. “Please!”

“Mean,” Harry says, shaking her head at the stretch of freeway laid out in front of them. “Mean, mean, mean.”

“You’ll thank me when we get to this wedding in one piece,” Louis replies, leaning down to rummage through the grocery bag on the floor. “Do you want a snack? Looks like we’ve got Doritos, SkinnyPop – isn’t popcorn already skinny enough? Jesus. Pretzels…”

“Haribo,” Harry exclaims, making a grabby hand at Louis. “It probably fell to the bottom of the bag. Haribo, Lou! Lou, the Haribo, come on.”

Louis pulls out a bag of gummy bears, staring at the label as she has an epiphany. She bats Harry’s hand away, turning to her in astonishment.

“Haribo,” she says, holding up the bag. “Haribo. That’s why I have you saved as ‘harrybo’ in my phone?”

“They’re her favorite.”

Both Louis and Harry jump at the sudden sound of the voice from the backseat. They’d spent so much of the drive in their own little world, talking and laughing about everything and nothing, that Louis had almost forgotten that Harry’s assistant Shawn was even there. Harry had warned her that while Shawn was nice and polite (“extremely Canadian” were her exact words), she was also pretty shy and would take some time to warm up to Louis. She twists in her seat to smile at Shawn, feeling guilty for excluding her.

“Oh, yeah?” she asks, glancing at Harry who, for once, has her eyes fixed on the road. “Why am I not surprised?”

“That’s kind of weird she hasn’t mentioned it,” Shawn adds, blushing furiously at her lap as she twists the hem of her flannel in her hands. “She eats them all the time when we’re on jobs.”

“You’re totally selling me out here, Shawn,” Harry jokes, making eye contact with her in the rearview mirror. “I was trying to hide my sugar addiction for a little while longer.”

Shawn joins them in their laughter, the exchange seeming to put her more at ease, and Harry pesters Louis with her grabby hand until she tears open the bag of candy and passes it around. When Harry’s playlist gets to the final track, “Leather and Lace,” she turns the volume up and they munch on their gummy bears, humming along as the wind from the rolled-down windows blows through their hair. Harry looks content to sit in contemplative silence when the song ends, but Louis can’t stand sitting still in the quiet for too long, so she switches over to Spotify to play ABBA, her favorite guilty pleasure music.

“What’s this?” Shawn asks politely as “Take A Chance On Me” starts blaring from the speakers.

Louis squawks in indignation, but Harry pats her thigh before she has a chance to turn around and scold Shawn.

“Be nice, she’s young,” Harry says before turning her head slightly to address Shawn. “It’s ABBA. You know, from _Mamma Mia?”_

“Oh, I think my mom likes that movie,” Shawn replies, apparently not picking up on any of the vibes coming from the front passenger seat. “Cool.”

Louis throws a pained look at Harry and she just laughs, shaking her head and squeezing Louis’ thigh. 

“Hey, Lou,” she says, looking at Louis out of the corner of her eye. “Toss me a gummy bear?”

Louis is about to hand over the half-empty bag when she notices Harry is waiting with her mouth wide open, like Louis is supposed to toss a gummy bear between her dark pink lips. 

“Harry,” she cries, breaking into laughter. “You’re driving! I can’t.”

“Come on, Lou Bear,” she insists, shoving at Louis’ shoulder. “Toss me a gummy bear! _Please?”_

Shawn leans forward, resting her forearms on her knees. “She’s not gonna give up until you do it. Just speaking from experience, it’s easier to give in.”

“Harold,” Louis gasps. “Do you just ask all the girls to toss gummy bears in your mouth? I thought I was the only one.”

“Only one that matters,” Harry says seriously, looking Louis in the eye for a long moment. When she finally looks away, she glances over her shoulder. “Sorry, Shawnie.”

“Nah, it’s okay,” Shawn replies, sitting back. “You’ve only had eyes for Louis for months.”

A tiny seedling of hope starts to take root in Louis’ chest. She tosses one gummy bear after another toward Harry’s open mouth, somehow missing every time even at this close range, as she wonders if Harry felt something the other night, too. If Harry has feelings for her. Too. Shawn’s not the first person to say something like that and Louis has brushed it off every time as just part of their arrangement, but maybe she isn’t alone in this after all, maybe she’s not just confused. But when she finally manages to get a gummy bear into Harry’s mouth and Shawn cheers from the back seat, she sits back as memories from the cat café flood her mind, how good Harry had been at coming up with ideas and making sure the details were airtight. Even just now, she came up with an excuse for Louis not knowing her favorite candy so easily. Maybe she’s just so good at faking it that she even convinced Louis.

Maybe this would be easier if they were straight. Maybe if Harry was a guy – not a stereotypical nice guy, but just a guy who was decent. And maybe if Louis hadn’t grown up policing her every interaction with other girls, overthinking every display of casual affection that straight girls could express freely without the fear of coming across as flirting, the possibility of seeming predatory. Maybe this would be easier, maybe she would be better at this.

She looks over at Harry, at her windblown curls, at her pale skin warmed by the afternoon sun, at the easy smile she offers Louis before looking back to the road. And no, confused as she’s been feeling, Louis wouldn’t trade her, wouldn’t trade the possibility of this budding relationship for anything. She shudders involuntarily. Jesus, she must be going crazy if she’s sitting here wishing she were straight of all things when there’s a much simpler solution: She should just talk to Harry. Like an adult. 

Harry’s phone starts vibrating in the cupholder, interrupting Louis’ resolve. From the screen, she can tell it’s Sophia calling so she answers it for Harry, who’s splitting her attention between the road and picking up fallen gummy bears from her lap and popping them in her mouth.

“Hey, Soph,” Louis says, holding up the phone. “You’re on speaker.”

“Hi everyone,” Sophia chirps down the line, joined by Liam’s voice in the background. “Harry, since we’re all on the road, I thought we could make good use of the time and go over the list of suggested portrait setups I found on Pinterest. You ready?”

Harry throws her head back in a silent scream before plastering on a very customer service-looking smile and saying brightly, “Of course. You’re the bride!”

As Sophia starts chattering excitedly on the other end, Louis slumps in her seat at the reminder: the bride. Sophia is the bride. This weekend is about her. If Louis does talk to Harry and it turns out that Harry doesn’t have feelings for her, it could ruin the whole weekend. She shouldn’t even be considering taking that chance when she knows exactly how important it is to Liam, her best fucking friend in the world, that Sophia has the perfect wedding.

She just has to get through the wedding first, that’s all. Then she can talk to Harry.

*

It’s late afternoon by the time they pull into the parking lot by the front office at the venue. They’re on the other side of the property than the grounds where the ceremony will take place, but Louis can see workers setting up chairs underneath a large tree that must be at least a hundred years old. Across a courtyard with a fountain is a rustic building with fairy lights strung around the entrance. Louis had yawned exaggeratedly when Liam tried to show her photos of the inside of that building, where the reception is being held, but now Louis kind of can’t wait to see it all set up for them.

Harry appears as her side, slinging her arm around Louis’ shoulders. “It’s all happening.”

“It really is,” Louis says, watching as a couple of employees hang a crystal chandelier from a tree branch over the altar. “They’re really getting married. It’s like we’ve been talking about this and planning it for so long and now it’s actually here. It’s crazy.”

“Aw, Lou,” Harry says, hugging her close and kissing the top of her head. “It’s starting to feel real, huh?”

“I guess so,” Louis laughs, carding a hand through her hair. “Have I told you, when I met Liam, she was so, so shy. She’d blush if you looked at her, couldn’t take a compliment to save her life. It took, like, two years to get her comfortable with accepting hugs, let alone to start giving them. And now…”

“She’s all grown up,” Harry says. “And getting married. It is kind of crazy.”

“Hey, guys,” Shawn calls from the back of their rented SUV. “Should we carry stuff in now or wait until we’re checked in?”

Harry takes Louis’ hand, giving it a light squeeze as they walk over the car.

“Let’s leave it,” she says. “Seems pretty safe, I don’t think anyone will make off with our things.”

“Cool,” Shawn says, ruffling her bouncy curls. “Office is right over there.”

They follow Shawn to the front office, and Louis mentally compares her curls with Harry’s. It’s no contest, really; Harry’s curls are long and a rich brown with the faint scent of lavender perpetually clinging to them. Shawn’s dark hair is very nice; her curls are cut short, which suits her strong jawline, and her hair is definitely fluffier than Harry’s. 

But Louis would rather creepily sniff or run her hand through Harry’s hair any day. 

They check into their rooms, a single for Shawn and a double for Louis and Harry, something they agreed to before the bachelorette party and the kiss that changed everything. But it’s fine, Louis can handle this. She’s totally got it. They’ll barely be in their room anyway. It’s fine.

When they unlock the door to their room and haul their suitcases inside, Louis sees for the first time just how not fine it actually is: There’s only one bed. Harry doesn’t seem surprised, crossing the small space and lifting her suitcase to place on the bed. She turns to Louis with an easy smile.

“I’m gonna go help Shawn unload our equipment, okay? We’re keeping everything in her room; it’s a perk of being the boss, not having to store it.”

“Yeah,” Louis replies, her voice strangled. She clears her throat, nodding. “Yeah, yeah, go on. I think I have time for a shower, so I’ll just hop in while you do that, okay?”

“Sounds great!” 

Harry smacks a kiss to her cheek before leaving Louis alone to stare at the queen bed in the middle of the room. Well, it could be worse. It could have been a full-size bed. Then Louis really would have been screwed. And not in the way she’d like to be.

 _After the wedding,_ she chants in her head as she takes her things for the shower into the bathroom. She just has to wait until after the wedding, and then they can talk. Really talk. 

The hot water soothes the tension that Louis hadn’t realized had taken up residence in shoulders, but she makes quick work of it, knowing she’ll get an earful from Liam if they’re late to the rehearsal. She towels off after getting out and pulls on the clothes she’d brought into the bathroom with her, simple blue plants and a plain white, short-sleeve button-down. She’d thought about bringing a print to make Harry happy, but she didn’t want to be too obvious about how she’d jump off a cliff for this girl at this point. 

Besides, she thinks as she assesses herself in the mirror, she looks like herself. And that’s not such a bad thing. She spends a couple of minutes running her fingers through her damp hair and then fastens the top button of her shirt before tucking it into her pants. 

There. That’ll do.

After gathering up the clothes she’d discarded on the floor, Louis opens the door to walk into the bedroom, stopping in her tracks at the sight that greets her. Harry is standing at the edge of the bed with her back to Louis, in baggy white dress pants and a bra. A lacy black bra. A lacy black bra with criss crossing lacy straps that almost look like wings across her back. Louis’ mouth dries up; she couldn’t say anything even if by some miracle she could actually think of something to say.

Harry glances over her shoulder. “Hey, Lou. You look nice.”

She picks up a short-sleeved black blouse and shrugs it on, turning to face Louis as she does up the buttons. Determined not to make this weird, even though it already feels very fucking weird to her, Louis walks to the other side of the bed, setting down the clothes she’d worn on the drive up here. She can’t help but notice that Harry buttons her blouse from the bottom and stops about halfway up before she adjusts the clasp on her cross necklace.

“You ready to go? I want to take some test shots where they’re doing the ceremony.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis replies, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “All ready. Let’s go.”

Harry picks up a large black camera before they head out, chattering about the settings as they walk across the grounds but Louis doesn’t hear a word of it. It’s like the only thing her brain has room for is an image of Harry in her bra. Of course she wears one that makes her look like she has wings. Of course she does, she’s a fucking angel on earth walking among mere mortals.

They’re not late; by the looks of it, they’re early. Only Liam and Sophia and their families are at the ceremony site so far, gathered by the altar. Harry trails to a stop before they reach the last row of chairs, looking down at her camera and then at the orange sky, streaked with pink clouds.

“I hate this,” she says, clicking a button on the camera and lifting it to look through the viewfinder. “Ugh, this sucks.”

“What’s wrong?” Louis asks. “Is it broken?”

“No, no,” Harry replies, lowering the camera and waving a hand at the sky. “It’s just I can never really capture the clouds when they’re like this. Look, the pink ones are so beautiful, I…”

“You what, Harry?” Louis asks gently as Harry trails off, the moment calling for a hushed tone.

“I just wish I could capture it,” Harry says, biting her lip before looking over to Louis. “I love the sky like this, something about the pink… I’ve never told anyone this before, so don’t laugh, okay?”

“I’d never,” Louis promises, resting her hand over her heart.

“It’s, like, the one thing that makes me believe in a higher power. I don’t know why, I just look up at the sky like this, and I feel like… like all of this isn’t a mistake, you know? Someone or something made it, and sure we’ve fucked it up a lot, but maybe… maybe we get more right than we get wrong?” 

Louis looks up at the sky, really taking in the colors and wisps of clouds for the first time. She doesn’t quite feel the same stir in her chest at the swirls of pink that she imagines Harry does, but in that moment she gets it, she gets how it makes Harry feel something.

“Maybe we do,” she says softly. The sun in her eyes starts to bother her, so she lifts a hand to shield her eyes, squinting over at Harry. “I’d sure like to think so, anyway.”

“Tommo! Harry! Care to join us?”

Louis has to tear her eyes away from Harry at the sound of Niall’s voice calling to them from down the aisle; all she wants to do is stand there with Harry and listen to her talk more about meaning in the universe in that slow, deep voice. She could listen to her talk for days and not get bored. Instead, she sees that most of the wedding party has arrived, gathered by Liam and Sophia, who are greeting their officiant.

“You better get up there,” Harry says softly. “I’ll see you after.”

Louis hesitates, not quite ready to separate. She’s being stupid, Liam had promised the rehearsal would only take twenty minutes, thirty tops, and she and Harry have been together for hours today. But every time Harry opens up like that, shares a piece of herself with Louis, it feels precious, like a gift. If only there was a simple way to let her know that before leaving without starting the talk she promised herself not to have until after the wedding.

“Go!” Harry stage whispers. “Liam is glaring at us; she’s literally tapping her toe.”

Louis glances over her shoulder and confirms that Harry isn’t exaggerating.

“I’ll buy you a drink at dinner, okay?” she asks, walking backward down the aisle much more smoothly than Harry would, if she does say so herself.

Harry laughs. “It’s open bar!”

“Louis,” Liam calls out. “Stop flirting, we have a wedding to rehearse.”

Louis mouths “bye” to Harry and turns to jog down the rest of the aisle. 

“Right, where were we, Payno? Chop chop, let’s go, we don’t have all night!”

*

“No, the best speech was Liam’s dad,” Harry insists as they stumble toward their room, a few hours and many drinks later. “He’s, like, the sweetest man, Lou! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It was really sweet when he teared up, wasn’t it,” Louis replies, fumbling for their room key in her pocket. “He loves Liam so much. He always has. And so do I!”

“So do you,” Harry cheers, crowding Louis as she tries to unlock the door. She wraps her arms around Louis’ waist and rests her forehead against the back of Louis’ neck. “I’m so jealous, Lou.”

“What?” Louis asks, looking over her shoulder as the lock finally clicks and they fall through the door. “Why? What?”

“I’m so jealous!” Harry wails as she crosses the room to her side of the bed. She picks up her toiletries case and shakes it at Louis. “Liam got to know you when you were just in middle school! And then this whole time! Your whole _life._ She’s so lucky. I’m going to cut her out of the photos tomorrow.”

“Harry,” Louis laughs, heading toward the bathroom. “You can’t! She’s the bride! One of them. One of the brides.”

“Fine,” Harry sighs, throwing her hands up. “But if they ask me why, I’m telling them it’s your fault.”

“My fault,” Louis starts, squeezing toothpaste all over her toothbrush. “My fault that there’s pictures of Liam on her wedding day?”

“Yes,” Harry crows triumphantly, poking Louis’ arm. “Give me some toothpaste. Please! I meant to say please, Lou.”

She pouts, holding out her pink toothbrush and Louis squeezes toothpaste all over it, too. She’s a very generous roommate.

“Well, I guess that’s just how it’ll have to be,” she says seriously, clinking their messy toothbrushes. “Come on, we need to go to bed. Big day tomorrow. The biggest.”

They get ready for bed together in companionable silence, occasionally making eye contact in the mirror and smiling goofily at each other. Louis finishes in the bathroom first, escaping before Harry can rope her into her multi-step skincare routine. Her head is still a little fuzzy from her last drink, but she manages to plug her phone in and set an alarm for the next morning. Thank fuck the wedding is in the afternoon; she’d probably wake up still drunk if they had to get up at the crack of dawn. She throws her clothes on the floor and pulls on a tank top and thin joggers to sleep in. As she pulls back the covers and crawls into bed, she remembers: There’s only one bed. Harry is going to sleep in this bed. With her, with Louis.

There’s a complimentary bottle of water on her nightstand with Liam and Sophia’s names and wedding date on the label (like anyone could forget why they’re here), so she sits up and drinks the whole thing as she coaches herself on sleeping politely. She’ll just stay on her side and face the other way and be respectful. Because she respects Harry. Oh, god, she respects her so much. She’s going to show her how much she respects her. She respects her so much that she’s going to marry her one day. 

“What are you thinking about?” Harry asks, wandering out of the bathroom clad in just her black bra and matching underwear. “You have a weird look on your face.”

Louis gulps. She’s not supposed to tell Harry what she’s thinking. Not yet. Because of… reasons. She’s sure of it.

“I respect you,” she blurts out, immediately regretting it. “I mean…”

“I respect you, too, Lou,” Harry smiles, placing her carefully folded clothes in her suitcase. She throws on a tattered Rolling Stone t-shirt, removing her bra underneath it and tossing it into the suitcase before she crosses to her side of the bed. “You know that, right? It’s mutual.”

“It’s mutual,” Louis nods, setting down the empty bottle of water. “We’ve discussed it.”

“I’m setting an alarm,” Harry says as she taps on her phone. “Did you set one? It’s the big day tomorrow. Why did we drink so much tonight, Lou? It’s tomorrow that’s the party.”

“That’s Liam’s fault for making her rehearsal dinner so fun,” Louis says, scooting down in bed to lie her head on her pillow as Harry plugs her phone in. “I’ll speak to her about it tomorrow.”

“Good plan,” Harry yawns, getting under the covers. She turns on her side to face Louis, tucking her hands beneath her pillow. “I think we have to go to sleep now. I love sleep, don’t you?”

“Sleep is the best.” Louis clumsily pats Harry’s face. “It’s my favorite.”

Harry giggles. “You’re my favorite.”

“You’re mine, too,” Louis confesses in a whisper. “Night, baby.”

“Night, Lou.”

*

The silky fabric of Louis’ new turquoise robe slips down as her shoulders slump in dismay. 

“Please, Karen?” she asks, lifting her eyebrows in an attempt to look as innocent as possible. “We’re not even wearing our dresses yet, does it really matter if we spill?”

“Sorry, girls!” Karen bustles around the room, distributing sandwiches and bags of chips. “Sophia makes the rules. The robes need to stay clean until you’ve taken photos in them.” 

Louis has always liked Liam’s mom; growing up, she’d spent almost as much time at Liam’s house as she did in her own. Karen dotes on her, gives great advice and always looked the other way when they watched R rated movies in high school. She’s like a second mom, honestly. But enforcing Sophia’s pointless rule about no condiments with lunch is just ridiculous. Louis isn’t a child or even a teenager anymore; she’s a grown woman. She can keep her dumb robe clean for the duration of one turkey sub. It’s not even worth eating without mayo. Or mustard. Maybe she should just skip lunch and faint during the ceremony. That would show them.

“Hurry up,” Niall says, her mouth crammed full of food. “You’re next for hair and makeup after Roo.”

“Why am I next,” Louis mutters darkly at her dry sandwich. “You go next.”

“I didn’t make the schedule,” Niall shrugs before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Blame Liam. It’s Roo, then Lou. Oh, maybe that’s why, ’cause of the rhyme.”

Louis ignores Niall and takes a wholly unsatisfying bite of her food, washing it down with Gatorade. She’s surprised they didn’t give it to her in a sippy cup. After checking that Liam is out of earshot on the other side of the room with her sisters, she leans in and whispers to Niall, “Liam and Sophia are driving me fucking crazy with all their rules and schedules. It’s just a wedding, for christ’s sake.”

“I think it’s kind of beautiful,” Niall remarks, opening a small bag of chips. “Think about how many straight people have terrorized their friends over wedding details. It’s like a strike for equality or something.”

She has a point but Louis doesn’t feel like acknowledging it, so she doesn’t. Instead, she fingers the hem of Niall’s sleeve wistfully.

“You look so good in green,” she sighs. “I wish I could have been green.”

“Turquoise brings out your eyes,” Niall argues, gesturing toward the bridesmaid gift wrapped around Louis’ body. “Really, you should be thanking me.”

“Just try not to fuck any bridesmaids between now and the ceremony, okay?”

“I mean, I can try. No promises, though.”

“Lou! We’re ready for you over here.”

Liam waves her over to the other side of the room, where Sam has set up a makeshift salon in the corner. Both she and her sister Lou are doing both hair and makeup, and Louis wonders if they flipped for which bridal suite they would work in. Personally, Louis thinks their group is much lower maintenance; she hopes the girls in the other room aren’t working Lou to the bone.

“Hop on up, Louis!” Sam smiles from behind the director’s chair she’s placed in front of a large mirror next to a card table covered in products. “I promise, it won’t hurt a bit.”

“She doesn’t need much, Sam,” Liam says, adjusting the tie on her white silk robe. “I want everyone to feel like themselves today, to be comfortable.”

Louis makes eye contact with Liam in the mirror and smiles. Liam might be driving Louis crazy, scheduling every last minute of the day as if their lives depend on it, but she’s still her best friend. 

“I think just mascara and some tinted moisturizer with sunscreen,” Sam says, plucking up a tube of something from the table. “And then a bit of molding clay for your hair. How does that sound, Louis?”

“It sounds perfect,” Louis says honestly, relaxing in the chair as Sam starts working on her. Even if she has to wear that god-awful turquoise dress, at least she’ll still look somewhat like herself.

The girls chat about the wedding as Sam works on Louis. Then it’s Niall’s turn in the hot seat (according to the schedule, of course). Sam clips rollers into Niall’s shoulder-length hair before she starts applying makeup to her face. It’s kind of fascinating to watch, Niall forced to be quiet for once as Sam tilts her chin and instructs her when to purse her lips or close her eyes, so Louis is actually enjoying herself. She glances over at Liam to check on her every few minutes, but she seems fine, no cold feet or wedding jitters or anything. She just seems so sure. Louis can admit to herself that, in her darker moments since Zayn left, she’s been jealous of Liam. She’s not proud of it, but she thought she’d been sure, too, and look how wrong she turned out to be. But today, as she watches Liam talk and laugh and smile wide with her eyes closed, she can’t find it in herself to be anything other than happy for her oldest friend.

“Knock knock!”

Louis’ head snaps toward the door to the suite at the sound of Harry’s deep voice. She walks in with her camera and a huge grin on her face, and Louis gets lost in her dimples for a moment. 

When Louis woke up that morning (with just a hint of a hangover, thank god), she was snuggled up against Harry’s warm body, the covers pushed down to their waists. Despite the drunken talking to she remembers giving herself before bed, she must have gravitated toward Harry sometime during the night, moving her arm around her waist and pressing her face to the back of her neck. After hugging Harry closer to her, burrowing into her neck and inhaling her sleep-warm scent, she had almost drifted back to sleep, but her alarm had shrieked at her to get up and suddenly she’d been alert enough to be horrified. She’d managed to ease herself out of bed without disturbing a still slumbering Harry, and by the time she was done washing her face and berating herself about respect, Harry was just stirring awake. 

As she smiles back at Harry, giving her a dorky little wave, she wonders if Harry remembers spooning. Even though she’s promised herself to wait until after the wedding to talk to Harry, Louis knows she’s a chicken shit for not mentioning it before they’d gone their separate ways for wedding duties that morning. She’d been scared, plain and simple. Harry probably wouldn’t have been upset or angry, since they are friends and they are both tactile as fuck, it turns out. But spooning wasn’t part of their agreement and Louis does respect Harry, and she doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable or cross any boundaries. 

She just needs to get through today so they can discuss what those boundaries are. 

“Lou, did you hear me?” 

Louis looks up as Harry’s voice breaks through the cloud of thoughts swirling in her head. She smiles sheepishly as she shakes her head.

“Sorry, I guess I zoned out for a sec. How do you want me?”

Niall snorts from the chair where Sam still has her captive, putting finishing touches on her hair, which Louis doesn’t think is very fair. She couldn’t have been lost in thought for more than a minute or two; it’s not that funny. Unless it was her phrasing that made Niall snort. Louis squints at her friend, who’s suddenly very interested in her reflection in the mirror and refuses to meet Louis’ eyes. 

“Just, uh, over by Liam,” Harry says after clearing her throat. “I need you guys to ooh and ah over her in a few poses, and then I’ll help you get dressed so we can do a few more shots from Sophia’s list.”

Louis winces sympathetically, remembering the second hour of their drive yesterday and the exhausting detail in which Sophia had gone over the shot list she’d found online. You’d think it was Harry’s first wedding or something from the way she’d talked, but Harry had just taken it in stride. As Louis has long suspected, Harry is a much kinder person she is.

Liam and her sisters are gathered by the large window at the end of the room, so Louis walks over to join them as Niall hops up from the salon chair. They pose a few different ways in their new silk robes as Harry directs them, and it feels kind of weird and fake but at least it doesn’t take too long before Harry beckons her to follow, promising Liam that they’ll return shortly for the rest of the getting ready photos.

“Oh, Lou, you’re never going to believe it,” Harry says as they walk down the path to their room. “I saw the venue cat! Milo. He was so, so sweet; he let me pet his belly and everything.”

Louis nods, trying to keep her face neutral as she debates oohing like she’d been instructed to in the photos.

“What? Are you sad you missed him? He’ll probably walk around the ceremony later; I’ve seen photos of him doing that at other events here.”

“It’s not that,” Louis says, biting her lip. Fuck it. “It’s just… Harry, I have something to tell you, and I don’t think you’re going to like it. I’m… a dog person.”

Harry gasps, clutching her chest like a character in one of Louis’ nan’s soap operas.

“I’m sorry,” Louis says, covering her face with both hands but peeking at Harry through her fingers. “Do you hate me?”

“I could never hate you,” Harry says, sounding scandalized at the thought. She pries Louis’ hands away from her face. “Never. Besides, that actually makes sense.”

“How so?” Louis asks, slowing to stand still a few yards from their room.

Harry turns to her with a grin, the hint of a dimple making itself known on her cheek.

“I have this theory,” she explains, her eyes bright with excitement. “When someone claims not to be a cat person, it’s because they’re too similar to cats, so they butt heads. Like, secretly, deep down, they are a cat.”

“What? I’m not a cat!”

“Think about it! No shade, but cats are more complex than dogs; they can be harder to read. But they’re inquisitive and playful, and really smart. And cats might make you, like, work to prove yourself? But once they trust you, they’re totally ride or die. Loyal and loving and fiercely protective. Tell me that’s not you.”

Harry crosses her arms, a challenging gleam in her eyes. 

Louis sighs, willing to admit defeat since Harry is basically paying her a compliment. A whole slew of them, really.

“I guess I’m a cat.”

She trudges to their room, absorbing this new piece of information about herself after a lifetime of never particularly warming up to cats – because, apparently, they’re too similar – as Harry crows in triumph beside her. Harry looks so happy about her theory being proven right that Louis can’t find it in her to argue, wordlessly unlocking the door and walking to the closet where her bridesmaid dress is hanging.

“I’m gonna get changed, too,” Harry says, sidling up beside her and plucking the hanger with her sleeveless black jumpsuit from the rack. “Time to be professional.”

“I’m sure that’s on the schedule, actually,” Louis jokes, discarding her robe and stepping into the skirt of her dress. She’s almost thankful that Liam had insisted she wear a strapless bra under the robe so as not to mess up the hair and makeup when she put her dress on; it sounded ridiculous at the time, but at least she doesn’t have to think about how to change in front of Harry. 

Harry doesn’t appear to have any such qualms, stripping down to a pair of hot pink panties and rummaging in her suitcase for the same bra she’d worn last night. It’s hard, really hard, not to stare, but Louis does her best, focusing all of her energy on the stubborn zipper of her dress. She hears rather than sees Harry snap the clasp of the bra before shuffling into her jumpsuit and sliding on flats.

“Ready for help, Lou?”

And suddenly she’s right there, in Louis’ space, accompanied by the faint scent of lavender. Without waiting for an answer, she deftly arranges the top of Louis’ dress into the sleek one-shoulder they’d decided on, humming something under her breath as she goes. 

“There,” she says, patting the finished shoulder. “You’re all set.”

But she doesn’t make a move to walk away and neither does Louis. They’re almost the same height; Harry has about an inch on her and a little more with her shoes on, so it would be very easy to stare into her green eyes and count the flecks of gold. To do that would be too revealing, though, so instead Louis lets her eyes drift down to Harry’s cross necklace, the charm dangling just between her breasts. With Harry’s warm, sweet breath on her cheek, she realizes that the clasp of the thin silver chain has slipped down, so she reaches up to right it, her fingertips tingling against Harry’s perpetually warm skin. 

She pats the clasp once it’s at the nape of Harry’s neck and Harry huffs a small laugh, presumably at the parallel. Louis can’t avoid it any longer, looking up to meet Harry’s gaze at last. Her eyes are so beautiful, a bright, vivid, springtime green. If she let herself, Louis could drown in them.

“Harry,” she says, her voice coming out strangled at first as the words she hadn’t fully planned to say start to tumble out. “Can we, uh… I, I’d really love it if we could talk. After the wedding. Um, can we?”

She’s about to reassure Harry that it’s nothing bad, nothing to worry about it, when she realizes that Harry doesn’t look worried.

“Yeah, Lou,” she says quietly, pinching her bottom lip between her finger and thumb. “I’d like that.”

*

The promise of a conversation hangs between them for hours. 

The air is charged, thick with possibility, as they walk back to Liam’s suite, as Karen hands out bouquets and Harry photographs all eight bridesmaids lining up in rainbow order, as the brides each walk down the aisle with their parents while Zayn sings an acoustic version of “At Last.” Even as Liam and Sophia sob their way through the vows they’d written themselves, Louis’ eyes are drawn to Harry in her sleek black jumpsuit, trying to be unobtrusive while she works. It’s like Harry is a magnet and Louis can’t resist her pull, unable to look away for more than a minute or two at a time. When everyone cheers as Liam and Sophia are pronounced wife and wife, Louis finds Harry in the crowd, her camera lowered and her eyes on Louis. She bites her lip and Louis almost misses her cue to follow Niall back down the aisle as she imagines soothing the spot with her tongue. 

As the sounds of the guests enjoying the cocktail hour drift over the grounds, Louis realizes that observing Harry at work during the ceremony hadn’t prepared her for the photography session afterward. At all. No longer attempting to go unnoticed, Harry commands the wedding party, both families and Shawn with ease, gently but firmly directing people where to go and how to pose. She’s just as kind as Louis has always known her to be, but she’s no pushover, and for the first time since the wedding planning started, Liam and Sophia are the ones taking orders instead of giving them.

Louis misses her cue more than once as she stares at the line of Harry’s determined jaw, watches her biceps flex as she lifts her camera, gets lost in the darker shade of green in her eyes that comes with her slightly disapproving gaze when she has to repeat herself. In her defense, Harry in charge is a lot to process. It’s unexpected, it’s intense, it’s… 

It’s really fucking hot is what it is. 

After awhile, Harry dismisses everyone except for Liam and Sophia, winking at Louis as Niall drags her off toward the cocktail hour. It’s in full swing by the time they get there, and Louis has to raise her voice to be heard over the din of the flower crown-bedecked crowd.

“Where’s the fucking bar?”

They find it fairly quickly, toasting with a circle of friends to Liam and Sophia’s happiness – and their own, now that planning is officially done – and downing signature pink cocktails before Rita herds them to the flower crown station.

“Come on, babes! It’s so fun, we all look like fucking goddesses. Even more than usual!”

“I’m just going to fuck it up,” Louis whines, trying to read the instructions written on a mirror behind the supplies. “When does Harry get here? She could probably figure it out.”

“You are so whipped,” Niall says, causing Rita to cackle. “Come on, it can’t be that hard. There are little kids running around here who’ve done it.”

Louis gathers small white flowers since they don’t have her favorite (daffodils) and turquoise is a stupid color to try to match. She follows the instructions to the letter, her fingers clumsy as she arranges the flowers, finally managing a halfway decent crown to rest on her head. It’ll probably fall apart before the dancing starts, but whatever. 

She poses for selfies with Niall, who treats it as an art and has it down to a science, spotting Zayn and Gigi lingering by the bar in matching crowns of blood red roses. And Gigi had scoffed at her and Harry for being basic. Okay.

Selena wanders over to flirt with Niall, running her hands over her yellow dress, but Niall barely seems to notice and fails to reciprocate for maybe the first time ever since Louis has known her. 

“What’s up with you?” she asks after Selena flounces away in a huff. “You’re being weird.”

“Just wasn’t in the mood,” Niall shrugs. She reaches out to adjust Louis’ flower crown in a clear attempt at distraction. “Oh, look, you’re all crooked.”

Before Louis has a chance to interrogate her further, a tall woman in a fitted gold blazer with short hair styled high into a pompadour announces that it’s time for guests to take their seats. Everyone rushes to pick up place cards on their way into the reception, and the bridesmaids line up by the door. A harried-looking Shawn runs past them, followed by a calmer Harry who winks again as she passes by. Liam and Sophia walk up to stand behind the bridesmaids, aglow with happiness and totally wrapped up in each other. Louis admires Liam’s plain black pants and white button-down with the sleeves rolled up and Sophia’ fitted tux paired with high heels. They both look gorgeous – and so comfortable. She can’t help but curse her stupid dress one last time as the DJ announces them by name and they walk in to applause, the guests saving most of their energy for the brides. 

Unfortunately, the seat next to Louis at their table remains empty for awhile as the brides cut the cake and toasts begin. Harry and Shawn are still hard at work, unable to take a break until after the first dance. The caterer had thoughtfully put a cover over their plates to keep their meals warm, and Harry groans in satisfaction after she finally drops into her chair and takes her first bite of food.

She wolfs down a few more bites before turning to Louis with a pout. “I’m so jealous.”

“Why, baby?” Louis asks, putting her arm on the back of Harry’s chair and leaning in to hear better.

“Your flower crown,” Harry whines, gesturing with her fork toward Louis’ head.

“You can have it if you want it,” Louis says, reaching a hand up. “But it’s total shit, you know I can’t do crafts without you.”

“So whipped,” Niall mutters across the table, earning a middle finger from Louis.

“No,” Harry exclaims, pulling Louis’ hand away from her crown. “I love it on you! I’m just sad I didn’t get to make one, that would have been so fun.”

Shawn elbows Harry. “Hurry up, boss. Sophia’s mom is making a beeline for us, I think our time’s almost up.”

They both shovel down a few more bites of food before they get swept away by Sophia’s mom to photograph the reception as the dancing starts in earnest. Louis glances over her shoulder to the open doors leading out to where the cocktail hour had taken place. There are lights strung up above the outdoor area and a few guests have wandered out there with drinks in hand. Louis wonders if the flower crown station has been taken down yet.

“Just go,” Niall says, standing up and dusting off her green dress. “You know you want to.”

“Shut up.” 

But she does want to, so she walks outside. The station is still set up, but it’s been picked over and there aren’t many flowers left. She unearths a large pink lily that’s somehow still intact and painstakingly follows the instructions for attaching it to the base of the crown, not wanting to fuck it up since it’s for Harry. After waving the finished product a few times in the air, the flower hasn’t come loose, so she decides it’s good enough. 

Walking inside through the crowd, holding the crown in her hands, feels like a declaration of something. Intent, maybe. She wonders if this is how Liam felt, carrying the engagement ring she’d bought for Sophia into the restaurant where she proposed. Harry’s off to the side of the dance floor, next to the DJ booth, taking photos, so Louis walks around the throng of dancing wedding guests to approach her from the side.

“Hey, Lou,” Harry grins, lowering her camera. “Oh, I can introduce you, you never got a chance to meet Nick, did you?”

She gestures to the DJ booth where the tall woman who’d announced dinner is fiddling with the settings on a soundboard. Louis is starting to feel like an idiot, standing in front of the girl she likes with a flower crown of all things as some sort of, what? Promise ring? But then Harry’s eyes fall to Louis’ hands, and her eyes light up with what can only be described as manic glee. 

“Lou,” she exclaims, “is that for me? Did you make that? Is it for me? Can I have it?”

Louis notices the DJ, Nick she assumes, smiling at them. She nods awkwardly in acknowledgement before returning her attention to Harry.

“It’s not much,” she says, holding the crown up. “The station was pretty picked over, and it will probably fall apart, but–”

“Lou, I love it!” Harry crouches down, looking up through her eyelashes. “Will you put it on me?”

And then, like she’s anointing Harry with her affections, Louis gently places the crown on her head, arranging it so that the lily is behind one of her ears.

“Have your ears always been that small?” she asks, suddenly desperate to keep herself in check until after the wedding. It’s getting harder and harder to wait, but she’d never forgive herself if she got in the way of Liam and Sophia’s perfect wedding day.

“Lou,” Harry drawls. “Don’t be mean. Oh! I love this song! Dance with me?”

Harry doesn’t wait for an answer, setting her camera on the edge of the DJ booth and pulling Louis onto the dance floor. It’s an oldie, and it takes Louis a few minutes to place the tune and how she knows it. It’s not until her hands are settled on Harry’s hips and Harry’s arms hug her around the shoulders that the realization hits.

“I know how I know this,” she says, next to Harry’s small ear adorned with the lily. “I only have eyes, for you,” she sings along softly before explaining, “This was in an episode of _Buffy,_ do you remember? The Sadie Hawkins dance.”

“Of course I do,” Harry says, swaying in Louis’ arms. _“Buffy_ is iconic. I know people like to hate on Angel, but I always liked the high school years.”

“Me too.” Louis tries to hide her smile in Harry’s curls, but she’s sure it doesn’t work by the way the DJ smirks at them. “So that’s your friend Nick? The DJ?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, twisting around to wave. “I’ll introduce you, you’ll love her. I feel like you have similar senses of humor.”

“Cool,” Louis says, squeezing Harry’s hips. She hums along as they dance to the rest of the song, thinking back to when she first heard it on TV years ago at a time when she didn’t know if she’d ever be able to dance with a girl like this, like every other couple on the dance floor. 

When the song ends, Harry tugs her hand as they walk off the dance floor. Louis assumes she’s leading her back to the DJ booth to get her camera and introduce her to her friend, but Harry pulls her to the other side of the dance floor instead to a table where a petite brunette is sitting alone on her phone.

“Molly, hi,” Harry says loudly over the music. “This is Louis, who I was telling you about?”

“Louis, hey,” Molly says warmly, setting her phone down. “Pull up a seat.”

“Molly’s the executive director of a non-profit that works with queer homeless youth,” Harry explains as Louis raises her eyebrows at her. “We were talking earlier about the kind of help they need on the board, and I thought of you.”

“She talked my ear off, honestly,” Molly laughs, turning to Louis. “And it sounds like you’d be a perfect fit. If you don’t want to talk business tonight, maybe we can at least exchange information? I’d love to talk to you about what we’re about, our goals, what it would be like working together.”

“Actually...” Louis runs a hand through the front of her hair, careful not to disturb her flower crown, as her mind races. Maybe she should be annoyed that Harry kind of sprang this on her, and now’s probably not the best time to network, especially since she’s had more than one signature pink cocktail, but if she’s honest, she’s really interested to hear more. “Actually, if you don’t mind, I’d love to talk about it tonight.”

“Awesome,” Molly says, pulling out the chair next to her. “Harry, can you sit or do you have to get back to work?”

“I have to go,” Harry says regretfully. “But I’ll catch up with you guys later?”

Louis bites back a laugh as Harry mouths “go get ’em” before turning back to Molly.

“So, where do we start?”

*

Niall grabs Louis as the reception winds down and the last of the guests start to gather their things and leave.

“Afterparty in my room,” she says, picking up a champagne bottle from one of the tables. “Find Harry and come by, okay?”

Louis nods, returning the high five that Niall offers, and looks around the emptying room for Harry. Maybe she’s outside; the cocktail hour area had been a good place for guests to mingle throughout the night since the music hadn’t been as loud out there. It’s definitely a good place to start, so Louis heads in that direction, thinking about going to their room first to change into comfy clothes, when Zayn stops her. 

“Hey, Lou,” she says, leaning against a table. “Alright?”

“Yeah, alright,” Louis says, her mind on sweatpants and Harry. “You?”

“It’s funny,” Zayn muses, taking her flower crown off and shaking out her long dark hair. “Weddings really make you think.”

Louis hesitates. She’s not in the mood for some kind of existential discussion right now, she just wants to find Harry and have a beer, but she’s had a few moments of reflection this weekend and Zayn is, well, not exactly a friend at the moment, but someone she cared deeply about. There’s no harm in indulging her for a few minutes. 

“It just really makes you take stock,” Zayn continues, toying with the roses on her crown, “of, like, where you’ve been, where you want to go. You know?”

“Sure,” Louis says, wondering if Harry is finishing up outside or if she’ll have to go looking for her. “Weddings can do that to you.”

“You know, we haven’t really talked, Lou. Since I left.”

Alarm bells start going off in Louis’ head, but before she has a chance to process them, Zayn continues talking.

“I know it must have seemed sudden, but at the time, it just felt so right. You know? I’d done everything I could here, it was time for a new start. Time to focus on myself for a bit.”

Louis can’t help the mirthless laugh that escapes her lips. “Right, because you never focused on yourself before.”

“I knew it,” Zayn says softly. “I knew you weren’t as okay with everything as you made it seem. Lou, why didn’t you just talk to me? You should have been honest.”

“Zayn, I didn’t talk to you because you moved across the country,” Louis says, trying to keep her anger in check. She really doesn’t want to do this right now. “Think that was kind of a sign you were done talking, wasn’t it? Done listening, too.”

“I had to do what was best for me,” Zayn replies, doing that same faux-concerned head-tilt thing she’d done at the bar that night. “I thought you understood that.”

Okay, apparently they’re doing this. 

“I haven’t understood anything you’ve done in months,” Louis snaps, counting off on her fingers. “I didn’t understand when you didn’t ask me to come with you, I didn’t understand when you started dating Gigi after a week, I didn’t understand when you sang that song about me like it meant something at that fucking open mic night. And, okay, who makes their friends go to Oakland in the middle of the fucking week–”

“What song?” Zayn interrupts, her tone curious like she actually doesn’t know what Louis is talking about. “The last one?”

“Yeah, the fucking last one, the one about losing what we had and wanting to me to understand–”

“Oh, Lou,” Zayn says, reaching out to touch Louis’ forearm. “That song isn’t about you.”

Through the blood rushing in her ears, Louis hears Zayn start to ramble about how the song – her song, their song, the song that Louis had tortured herself over – was written about an ex before Zayn had even met Louis. It has nothing to do with Louis or their breakup. It never did. She’s almost tempted to laugh at how wrong she’d been as puzzle pieces slot together in her mind. It’s like she can finally see Zayn, see their relationship, clearly. Somehow it had taken her months to see what Harry had seen almost immediately, how she’d built everything up her mind.

“Listen,” Louis says, cutting off Zayn’s long and winding explanation. She takes one of Zayn’s hands in hers and looks her in the eye. “I don’t think you’re a bad person, Z. But you can be selfish. You were perfectly fine with me putting you on a pedestal, with me being the one who loved you more. And yes, looking back, I let you do that, I let you be the center of everything. But you know what? You should have left a long time ago. It wasn’t fair to me to stay with me for that long.”

A lock of hair falls across Zayn’s face and she automatically reaches out to smooth it away.

“You want me to be honest with you? Well, here’s the truth: I don’t want to be here right now, with you, talking about how I was a mess after you left. Because I’m not a mess anymore. I’m fine. No, I’m better than fine – I’m with someone who brings out the best in me, who wants the best for me. Someone who builds me up, who gives just as much as she takes. A true partner. My partner, that’s who I want to be with right now. So if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go find her.”

Louis glances up and sees Harry over Zayn’s shoulder, standing in the doorway and staring at them. Before Louis can react – wave or call out to her or even smile – Harry turns on her heel and runs away. Bewildered, Louis looks down and only then realizes how intimate they might have looked from afar. How it might have looked like they were finding common ground instead of realizing how far apart they’d always actually been.

Oh. _Oh._

Oh, _no._

“Lou–”

“I have to go.”

With that, she drops Zayn’s hand, pushing her way through the tables that employees are starting to take down as her mind races. She has to get to Harry, she has to explain that it wasn’t what it looked like, she has to tell her that she doesn’t want Zayn, that she hasn’t wanted Zayn for a long time. She has to tell Harry that it’s her, that she’s the one Louis wants. 

She bursts through the open doorway into the cocktail area, but Harry is nowhere to be seen. Louis breaks into a run, heading toward their room and praying that she’ll find her there. Harry taking off like that can only mean one thing, that she has feelings for Louis too, that she’s not just that good at pretending, and Louis can’t blow this before it has a chance to really begin. 

The light is on in their room, and Louis pauses for a moment to catch her breath before reaching for the door handle and turning it. Harry is inside, stuffing clothes into her suitcase, her flower crown next to the suitcase on the bed. Louis’ chest tightens at the sight of tears staining her face.

“Baby,” Louis says, still a little out of breath, “what are you doing?”

“Don’t,” Harry says sharply, looking up with anger flashing in her eyes, “call me baby. Don’t you dare.”

Louis pauses mid-step, halfway into the room. Harry crams her toiletry case into her bag as she laughs bitterly, shaking her head.

“I am so stupid, I can’t believe I thought… I actually thought...” Harry huffs another laugh that almost sounds like a sob, covering her mouth for a moment. “So stupid.”

Louis takes a step toward Harry. “What–”

“So unbelievably fucking stupid,” Harry chokes out, angrily swiping tears from her cheeks. She tries to wedge an ugly tan cardigan into her suitcase but gives up, throwing it onto the bed. “I really started to think you had feelings for me too, that this wasn’t all about Zayn and her leather jackets and shitty songs and bitchy girlfriend. I thought this was about me, I thought this was about us. I’m such an idiot.”

“Harry, you’re not, I–”

“You know, I begged Niall not to do anything, I begged her not to tell you I liked you, I thought if we were meant to be then it would just happen. You can’t force it, I told her; when it’s right, it just kind of happens. And then that night at the bar, I knew I shouldn’t have done anything, I knew I shouldn’t have gone along with it, but I thought maybe, just maybe, if she spends some time with me, if she gets to know me, she’ll see how good we could be together.”

Harry rakes her hands through her wild curls and Louis chances another step toward her.

“Well, look how great that turned out. Just when I think I’m getting somewhere, that you’re falling for me too–”

“Harry,” Louis says quietly, standing across the bed. “Harry, I am, I–”

“That’s not what it looked like a few minutes ago, Louis,” Harry says, crossing her arms. “It looked like you were getting back together with your ex. If you don’t want to be with me, at least don’t go back to her, she–”

“I wasn’t,” Louis says simply. “I’m not, I promise. I didn’t realize how it looked until you ran off, and then I left right away to come find you, I swear. I don’t want her back. I haven’t for a long time.”

“You don’t want her back?” Harry asks, a line forming between her brows. “Why not? Isn’t that what all this has been about?” 

“No, it hasn’t,” Louis replies, itching to walk over and reassure Harry with a hand in her hair, the press of her lips against her flushed cheek. “I should never have gone along with it either, because what it was about for me is my stupid sense of pride. I couldn’t stand the idea of looking weak in front of her, not when she came back and acted like our breakup was nothing. But I swear, I was already starting to move on by that night. It was never about getting her back, and even if it was, well, then it failed spectacularly.”

Harry inches toward the foot of the bed, so Louis matches her step for step, needing to be close to her but determined not to rush her.

“How did it fail?” Harry murmurs, rubbing her eyes and smearing her mascara. “Spectacularly?”

“Because I did fall for you,” Louis explains. “I’ve been falling for you from the start. I just didn’t realize it right away because I’m the one who’s been stupid. I’m so sorry, Harry, I’ve been wanting to tell you but I was so scared of messing up the wedding that I decided to wait–”

“How would you have messed up the wedding?”

Harry shuffles a few steps closer and Louis matches her again. They face each other at the end of the bed, just a foot apart.

“I was so nervous that you didn’t feel the same way,” Louis confesses, running her hand through her hair and almost knocking off her flower crown. “I wasn’t sure, I got confused because we were supposed to be pretending.”

“I’m not pretending,” Harry admits, taking a step toward Louis. “I never was.”

“Baby,” Louis breathes, reaching out to her. Harry crumples into her arms, burying her face in Louis’ neck as she wraps her arms around her. “I’m so sorry, baby, I never wanted to hurt you.”

She pulls Harry to sit on the bed with her, stroking her hair. After rubbing her eyes again, Harry looks up with a hesitant smile.

“You really don’t remember New Year’s Eve, do you?” She bites her lip when Louis shakes her head. “You were… I mean, you were drunk, like really drunk, but you were just so fucking cute, Lou. You talked non-stop and you were so expressive, you just drew me right in. I could have sat by your side and just watched you all night, and that’s basically what I did.”

Louis winces. “I talked non-stop?”

“Yeah, it was great.” Harry grins, knocking their shoulders together. “Your sisters had dragged you to see this Christmas movie, a rom com. I forget the name of it.”

“Oh,” Louis says, sitting up straight as she remembers. _“Last Christmas._ Fuck, that movie was terrible.”

“That’s what you kept saying all night,” Harry laughs. “And you couldn’t remember the actress’s name, so you kept calling her Khaleesi–”

“Emilia Clarke!” Louis smacks her forehead. “How did I forget the mother of dragons’ name?”

“And Niall kept shouting the word ‘spoiler’ at you from across the room, because you wouldn’t stop talking about the movie and you did, you spoiled the whole twist and everything over and over because you kept forgetting what you’d already said. It was–”

“Fucking awful?”

“Fucking amazing,” Harry says happily. “God, it was the best night.”

“Did we,” Louis starts, remembering something Harry said at the cat café. “Did we kiss at midnight?”

“No,” Harry sighs, her shoulders slumping. “I wanted to so bad, but you were just too drunk. It wouldn’t have been right, and you wouldn’t have remembered anyway.”

“I’m sorry,” Louis says softly, running her fingers through Harry’s curls. “I’m so sorry I forgot.”

“It was silly to think that you wouldn’t,” Harry shrugs. “You were already drunk when I got there.”

“Imagine all the time we could have saved, though.”

“You weren’t ready,” Harry says. “The timing wasn’t right. But, um…”

“But it is now,” Louis finishes. She cups Harry’s jaw. “I’m ready now. I promise. God, Harry, I like you so much, I want… I want to take you to the cat café as soon as it opens even if I’m hungover because the cats are more active then. I want to take you dancing and I want everyone to know you’re mine even though you’re the worst dancer I’ve ever seen and I promise to never leave while Britney is on ever again. I want to fuck up crafts with you and be your date to family parties and order you rosé or whiskey neat depending on your mood and I want… I want to call you baby and I want it to be real. I don’t want anyone else, I promise. It’s you. I only have eyes for you.” 

Tears spill over from Harry’s watery eyes, rolling down her cheeks, and Louis cradles Harry’s face in her hands, thumbing them away.

“Did you know that we spooned last night?” Louis asks, petting Harry’s curls. “I woke up with you in my arms.”

“I wondered,” Harry says, her eyes flicking slowly between Louis’ eyes to her mouth. “I slept so good, but you were already up and out of bed when I woke up…”

“I was too chicken shit to tell you,” Louis admits with a laugh. “You felt amazing, but I panicked. God, baby, I was just so scared of screwing this up; I didn’t want to, like, cross your boundaries. Would that have been okay with you? Being my little spoon?”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes, not bothering to pull her gaze from Louis’ mouth. “God, yeah.”

“And what about,” Louis starts, moving a hand down Harry’s neck, “when it comes to, like, more than that?”

Harry grins, and Louis knows she’s remembering their practice kiss, too. 

“More than that? Like what?”

“Like…” Louis traces Harry’s bottom lip with her thumb. “Kissing. Here.” 

She trails her fingertips along the flush traveling down Harry’s throat. “And here.” 

She skims along the neckline of Harry’s jumpsuit, finally running a finger over one of Harry’s taut nipples. “Here.” 

Harry inhales a shaky breath as Louis murmurs, “here,” by Harry’s ear, repeating the word as she drags a fingertip down her chest and along her torso, finally reaching between Harry’s legs, which fell apart at some point on Louis’ journey down her body.

“And here,” she finishes, lightly cupping Harry’s pussy over her clothes, her mouth already watering at the thought of getting out her out of this jumpsuit and seeing if Harry’s hot pink panties have gotten wet from the suggestion of what they’re hopefully about to do.

“Lou,” Harry gasps, hiding her face against Louis’ neck. _“Please.”_

“Please what, baby?” 

“Please fuck me.”

The words whispered against her skin go straight to Louis’ clit and she throbs almost painfully with how much she wants Harry, how much she wants to do just that. She’s about to turn Harry’s head so she can kiss her when Harry climbs into her lap, grinding down as she thrusts her tongue into Louis’ mouth. All of the tension that’s been building over the last month finally, gloriously explodes as they kiss furiously, licking into each other's mouths. 

“Mmph, baby, baby, wait,” Louis mumbles against Harry’s chin, squeezing her hips.

“What?” Harry pouts before biting Louis’ lip. “Thought you were going to fuck me.”

“I am,” Louis says, unable to resist ducking in for one more kiss before continuing, “but I have to get out of this fucking dress. Please, please can you undo my shoulder? Then I promise, I’ll fuck you, as many times as you want.”

Harry collapses into peals of laughter, and they fall back against the mattress. 

“Baby, please,” Louis begs, rubbing Harry’s back as she laughs. “I can’t be in this hideous thing for one more second! How can you even look at me in it?”

Harry sits up on Louis’ lap, plucking Louis’ flower crown from the bed and resting it on her curls as she looks Louis up and down, her eyes dark.

“Because you’re fucking gorgeous no matter what you’re wearing. You’re so fucking hot, Lou, can’t believe you’re mine, I’ve been dreaming about this for so long. I want you so bad, I–”

“Help me out of this,” Louis pleads, “and you can have anything you want.” 

Harry clambers to her feet, her eyes never drifting from Louis as she unzips her jumpsuit and lets it fall to the floor, revealing her long, lithe body. Between convincing herself that she wasn’t attracted to Harry and then feeling guilty for being attracted to her, Louis hasn’t let herself think too much about the possibility of getting to see Harry like this. All the fantasies in the world though probably wouldn’t have prepared for this moment, for the miles of pale skin adorned with stark black tattoos suddenly on display as Harry bites her lip and looks up through her lashes. The fact that Harry’s clearly enjoying playing coy, putting on a show for her, is almost too much for Louis to handle, and she’s torn between wanting Harry to draw it out and wanting her naked as soon as possible.

The clasp for her black bra is in the front, and when she unsnaps it, her breasts spill out of the lacy material. Louis watches as Harry runs her hands over the creamy skin capped with raspberry pink nipples drawn tight. The bra falls from her shoulders as she caresses herself, showing off her perfectly formed tits before sliding her hands down to the hot pink underwear. She slips her hands inside the waistband, but then draws them out, batting her eyes at Louis.

“So wet, Lou,” she says, biting her lip and rubbing herself over the damp fabric. “So ready for you.”

“Fuck,” Louis whines, tugging at her zipper. She’ll rip this goddamn dress off herself if she has to, it’s not like she’s going to wear it again. If she doesn’t get her mouth on Harry soon, she’ll die, she’s sure of it. Once the zipper is finally down, she claws at the shoulder, but Harry finally steps forward and climbs back onto her lap. “Oh, thank god, please, baby, get me out of this thing.”

Harry’s laugh is low and husky against Louis’ ear as she finally reaches for the fabric that she’d deftly arranged earlier. It comes loose easily, falling off of Louis’ skin, and Harry pulls the dress off the rest of the way, leaving Louis panting below her in just her strapless bra and plain underwear. It doesn’t occur to Louis to feel self-conscious, though, as Harry eyes her hungrily.

“Mm, wanna fuck you,” Harry says, her usually deep voice bordering on gravelly at this point. She pulls Louis up by the shoulders, but instead of kissing her, she unhooks Louis’ bra and throws it over the side of the bed. It’s only then that she seems to remember the suitcase next to them on the bed and she huffs an annoyed sigh. “Going to fuck you. Lie back, just lemme move this.”

Louis laughs as she shuffles back on the bed. The flower crown with the pink lily hasn’t fallen apart yet by some miracle, so Louis places it on her head before laying back against the pillow. As much as she likes Harry undressing her (yeah, that’s going to be a thing for them), Louis is still throbbing with need, so she shimmies out of her underwear as Harry climbs onto the bed. 

They lie on their sides, facing each other like they did the night before, but this time they reach for one another at the same time, colliding into a sloppy kiss with roaming hands. Harry’s mouth is hot and wet and Louis revels in it as she finally gets a hand on one of Harry’s tits, squeezing the flesh before lightly pinching the nipple. Harry cries out and Louis swallows the sound, kissing her fiercely as she repeats the movement. Harry gives as good as she gets, one hand glued to Louis’ ass and the other pulling Louis in by the back of the neck to return the kiss. 

It’s tempting to rush after waiting so long to get to this point, but Louis forces herself to slow down, mouthing wetly at Harry’s neck and using both hands on Harry’s breasts to draw wanton moans from her. Harry bucks her hips against Louis, but she takes her time traveling down Harry’s body, spending time on every bit of pale flesh that calls to her with both her mouth and her hands. Harry is a panting, writhing mess by the time Louis gently parts her legs and peels off the hot pink panties. She makes her wait for a few moments longer, tracing the laurel tattoos on her hips with her tongue before moving down to hover over her glistening folds. She looks up at Harry’s flushed face from under her lashes.

“I want to hear you.” 

Louis waits for Harry to meet her eyes and nod before she lowers her head and drags her tongue over Harry’s clit. Harry gasps and thrusts up to meet her, and Louis fits her mouth over the pulsing nub and sucks. As Harry’s guttural moans fill her ears, Louis explores with her tongue and slides a finger inside of her, stroking her fingertip over Harry’s walls until she finds her spot, trying to take in the rise and fall of Harry’s choked breathing, her quivering thighs, to see what she likes best. When she’s not sure if Harry likes something, she pauses her ministrations to ask, waiting sternly for Harry to answer, to tell her what she likes and wants more of before returning to her dripping pussy to give it to her. It turns out that Harry likes to be teased, likes her pleasure to be drawn out, but then she wants to be fucked and fucked hard. When she finally comes, spurting liquid into Louis’ mouth and spilling onto her chin, Louis could burst with pride. She did that, she fucked her girl so well that she basically squirted their first time together. Sure, it’s a lot to live up to, but Louis is up for the challenge.

“Oh my god,” Harry pants, pushing hair off her sweat-damp forehead. “Oh my _god.”_

Louis shuffles up her body, unable to keep the grin off her face, and presses a kiss to Harry’s slack lips.

“Do you want some water, baby? We still have one of those wedding water bottles–”

“I don’t want water, I want to fuck you.”

Having focused on Harry’s pleasure for so long, Louis’ own had faded to the background but now it roars back into focus, sharp and almost painful. She dives in for another kiss and Harry rises to meet her, their tongues sliding together. She moans at the taste of herself on Louis, and then flips them over so she’s on top.

“What do you want?” she asks as she fits a large hand over one of Louis’ breasts and squeezes. “Are your nipples sensitive?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, arching into the touch. “Yeah, can you… oh fuck, yeah, can you, I like…”

“What do you like, Lou?” Harry asks, her green eyes dark as her tone turns commanding. “Tell me.”

“I like–” Louis breaks off with a gasp as Harry toys with her nipple, making it draw impossibly tighter. “Can you… I want – oh! Oh, fuck! Can, can you play with them while you finger me?”

Harry hums as she moves to lie next to Louis on the bed, taking one of Louis’ nipples into her mouth and sucking as she parts Louis’ folds, tracing them with her finger.

“More,” Louis begs, eyes closed as the heats builds in her core. “More, more! Fuck me!”

Harry gives her what she asks for, slowly intensifying her touch until the slick sounds of her fingers dancing over Louis’ clit mingled with Louis’ wanton moans fill the room. Her hips move to meet Harry’s touch until Harry gently bites down on her nipple, the silent instruction to stay still immediately understood. Clawing at the sheets as the pleasure steadily rises to a boiling point, Louis comes with a loud cry, shaking apart before finally melting into the mattress. She opens her eyes in time to see Harry lift her fingers to her mouth, sticking her tongue out before slowly sucking them one by one. Louis watches, idly wondering how long until she’ll be ready to go again.

When Harry’s finished, Louis turns on her side to face her. They’re both breathing heavily, sweaty and flushed, atop the rumpled sheets. Petals from their destroyed flower crowns are strewn over the bed, and Louis thinks there might be come on Harry’s ugly cardigan beneath her. A voice that sounds suspiciously like Hailee’s saying “Jesus, finally,” can be heard through the wall. As Harry’s eyes widen in delight, Louis can’t think of anything more perfect than this moment, pulling Harry in for a gentle kiss as they come down from the high. 

“Lou,” Harry murmurs, nuzzling their noses together, “’m all sticky. D’you wanna fuck in the shower?”

“Baby,” Louis says, stealing a kiss from Harry’s puffy lips. “Do you remember when I asked if you could stop being perfect for, like, fifteen seconds?”

Harry blinks slowly, clearly confused by the seeming non-sequitur, and then nods. 

“Well, forget I said that,” Louis says, pulling Harry along with her as she sits up. “Yes, let’s go fuck in the shower.”

*

“Tommo! Over here!”

Louis stops just inside the doorway to the patio and turns in the direction of the voice calling out to her, scanning the dining area for a familiar head of brunette hair. It takes longer than it should to locate Niall, but she’s distracted by Harry’s arms around her and Harry’s lips pressed against her ear, whispering promises. 

“Oh, for christ’s sake! I’m right here, I saved you seats!”

Louis finally spots Niall at an empty table across from the buffet and she guides Harry in that direction with an arm around her waist. They sit down next to Niall, Harry scooting her chair as close to Louis as she can before she resumes nuzzling her neck.

“Missed you guys at the afterparty,” Niall says distractedly, digging into her scrambled eggs. She takes a bite and, as she swallows, looks at Harry and Louis properly for the first time. Her eyes narrow and she points between them with her fork. “Oh my god, you had sex. Finally.”

Harry giggles, hiding her face in Louis’ neck.

“Wait, you’re together, aren’t you? Together, together, none of this faking it bullshit?”

“Excuse me, Neil,” Louis says, petting Harry’s curls. “I seem to remember this faking it bullshit being your brilliant idea–”

“It was a brilliant fucking idea,” Niall declares, sitting back and waving to someone behind Louis and Harry. “Look at you now, you know this was my plan all along. Nick, over here!”

“Oh, finally,” Louis says, looking over her shoulder to see the DJ approaching their table. “The famous Nick.”

“The one and only,” she declares, dropping into the seat across from Louis. She sets her plate down and extends her hand. “And you must be Louis. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Harry nibbles at her earlobe as Louis reaches her hand out to shake Nick’s, seemingly content to ignore all of their friends. They do have some lost time to make up for, after all. 

“Me, too,” Louis says, sitting back and squeezing Harry’s shoulder. “Missed meeting you a couple of times. You were DJing at that club we went to, what’s it called, baby, the one on–”

“I think she’s busy,” Nick smirks, gesturing toward Harry as Harry flips her off without looking up. “Yes, I was DJing that night, and I’d say sorry to miss you too but I did get an eyeful of you two frenching on the dance floor that night, so…”

“Fucking like rabbits, they are,” Niall says agreeably. “Lou, you have to go up for coffee, they’re not going to bring it to you, you know.”

“I’ll get it,” Harry offers, sitting up with a dreamy smile. “You want cream, right, Lou?”

“Yes, baby, thank you,” Louis says, eyes glued to Harry as she walks to the coffee station clad in that ugly tan cardigan. Hopefully no one notices the come stain, it hadn’t rinsed all the way out last night. 

“Oh my god,” Nick moans, lowering her fork to her plate. “I’m supposed to be off carbs this week, but these waffles are amazing. I fucking love brunch.”

Louis’ stomach growls as if on cue and she remembers that she hasn’t eaten since dinner and cake last night. If she wants to help Harry make good on the promises she’d been whispering in Louis’ ear earlier – and she does, she really does – then she should probably go get them some food.

“Be right back,” she says, standing up and then walking over to the buffet. 

Harry’s magnetic pull has only intensified in the last twelve hours, so Louis glances over at her constantly as she attempts to fill two plates, making sure she gets a little bit of everything including fruit. She can’t keep the grin off of her face as Harry spills coffee at the station and mops it up before skipping back to their table, practically glowing with happiness. As she balances the two heavy plates on her way to their table, Louis vows to herself to do everything in her power to make sure that glow never fades. 

She’s so distracted by Harry’s dimples, which have been out in full force all morning, that she almost doesn’t notice that Zayn and Gigi have joined their group, taking the seats next to Nick and sipping black coffee. Louis nods at them, but focuses her attention on Harry, who squeals in delight at the selection of breakfast foods. They sit close together, half listening to the conversation around them, as they each eat off both plates. It’s not until they’ve demolished their food, leaving only the strawberries for Harry to sprinkle on sugar on before eating the slices with her hands, that Louis emerges from their little bubble, finally tuning in to their surroundings.

Well, mostly. It is hard to look away from Harry’s lips, the natural strawberry stained pink infinitely preferable to the lipstick that Sophia had forced on her, after all.

“When’s your flight, Z?” Niall asks. “You’re not doing the red-eye, are you?”

“No, thank god,” Zayn replies, taking off her sunglasses and setting them on the table. “We’re driving to my parents’ house and spending the night, then flying out tomorrow.”

“Speaking of flights,” Louis pipes up, relieved in spite of herself that she won’t be running into Zayn on a regular basis anymore, “when do Liam and Sophia leave for Hawaii?”

“Where are the brides anyway?” Nick asks, looking around the patio filled with brunching wedding guests. “Sorry, the wives.”

“That’s so wild,” Niall says, shaking her head. “Wives. Finally.”

“I like the word spouse,” Harry remarks, mopping up the remnants of pink sugar on her plate with a slice of strawberry. “Doesn’t get used nearly enough.”

“Spouse,” Louis says thoughtfully. “I like it. Like a mixture of spider and mouse.”

Harry giggles and Louis joins her, the laughter as infectious as it always is with the two of them. The rest of the table looks on, most of them bemused.

“You two are perfect for each other,” Gigi says, yawning behind her coffee cup with large black sunglasses obscuring her face. 

Louis isn’t sure if she’s trying to be rude or if she just has resting bitch voice. Before she can say anything, Zayn speaks up.

“You are,” she says, making direct eye contact with Louis, sounding much more sincere than her girlfriend. “Perfect for each other.”

Harry places a possessive hand on Louis’ thigh, and Louis wraps her arm around Harry’s shoulder as she nods in acknowledgement. The nod that Zayn returns before turning back to Gigi provides the last bit of closure that she hadn’t realized she needed and Louis feels lighter than she has in months. Years, maybe.

Louis can feel the pout radiating from Harry, so she squeezes her arm, pulling her as close as she physically can as she casts about for a change of subject.

“Where’s young Shawn?” she asks, looking around the patio. “I haven’t seen her either.”

“That’s weird,” Harry says, resting her head against Louis and rubbing her foot up and down Louis’ shin beneath the table. “It’s not like her to miss free food.”

“She’s in my room,” Niall says before taking a sip of her mimosa. “Sleeping it off.”

All of the heads at the table swivel toward Niall and Louis thanks her lucky stars that none of Niall’s exes are sitting with them.

“Niall,” Harry clucks, shaking her head. 

“Not like that,” Niall says, tracing the rim of her glass with her fingertip. “We just talked, like all night. She fell asleep when the sun was coming up.”

No one seems to know what to say to Niall’s admission, which is understandable given her dating history. It would be funny if Niall didn’t look uncomfortable, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. Louis has given her a lot of shit over the years, but never when Niall hasn’t been in on the joke. She’s starting to feel like an asshole for making assumptions in the first place; maybe Shawn is different somehow, important to Niall in a way she doesn’t feel like explaining over brunch. 

“Wow,” Louis says, clapping Niall on the back. “Happy for you, Neil. Shawn is great.”

“She is! She’s so… nice? Like–”

“Extremely Canadian,” Harry supplies, shucking off her shoe to continue her game of footsie barefoot. 

“Yes! Exactly,” Niall says. “She seems so shy and nervous, but when it was just the two of us after everyone left, she kind of calmed down? Came out of her shell a little. She’s–”

“Walking over here right now,” Nick finishes, standing to wave Shawn over and moving to an empty chair at the end of the table. “There you go, Shawnie! Your seat’s right there.”

“Thanks,” Shawn says to the ground, blushing furiously as she sits. “Hey, guys. Um, Harry, is it cool if I–”

“Ride back with Niall? Sure. Lou can help me unload when we get back, right, Lou?”

“Right, baby.”

“Smitten kittens, these two are,” Nick says before clapping her hands together. “Right, who needs a mimosa?”

As she takes drink orders, Harry turns to Louis with a small, private smile. 

“Smitten kittens,” she whispers. “See, Lou, everyone knows you’re a cat.”

“You knew it first, though,” Louis whispers back, rubbing their noses together. “You’re the one who really saw me, baby, just the astrology chart said. We’re written in the stars, you and me.”

Harry visibly melts at that and Louis leans in to capture her trembling lip in a kiss only for Niall to throw a napkin at their heads.

“Go fuck in your room and leave us in peace, kittens.”

“Fine,” Harry says cheerfully, standing up and tugging Louis’ hand. “We will!”

“Thank god they’re not going to fuck in the bathrooms,” Nick remarks to the table at large. “We’ll probably be able to hear enough with them all the way in their room.”

Just then Hailee walks by with a full cup of coffee and dark smudges below her eyes. “You’ve got that goddamn right,” she mutters, glaring at them on her way to her table. 

Cackling, Harry pulls Louis away from the table.

“Harry, wait!” Shawn calls after them. “You forgot your shoe!”

_three weeks later_

“Peppermint, no! Bad kitty! No, no, I didn’t mean it, you’re not a bad kitty, but your _behavior_ was bad. You almost knocked down Lou’s flowers!”

Louis walks out of the bathroom, clad in a clean t-shirt and joggers and toweling off her damp hair. The sound of her girlfriend scolding their cat travels down the hallway, bringing a smile to her face.

“Baby?” she calls out, walking toward the living room. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, Lou! All good!”

When Louis walks into the room, she sees that Peppermint is standing on the counter separating the kitchen from the living room and Harry is bending down to meet her at eye level, giving her a quiet talking to next to a vase of fresh daffodils.

“Are those for me? What’s the occasion?”

“Occasions are for straight people, Lou, you know that.”

“Oh, of course,” Louis says, draping her towel over a chair by the counter. “How silly of me.”

Harry leans across the counter, her lips puckered for a kiss and Louis happily obliges. 

“Hi, baby,” Louis murmurs, ruffling Harry’s curls the way she likes. “Want to grab a beer and hang out on the couch?”

“Yes, please.” Harry lifts Peppermint and kisses her head before gently setting her on the floor and then turning to the fridge. She hands Louis a beer and grabs one for herself. “How was practice?”

“It was great,” Louis replies, walking over to the couch. “Intramural soccer is one of the best ideas I’ve ever had. Niall and I were on opposite sides, so I tried to go for her bad knee to take her out, but she got away from me.”

“I’m glad you’re having fun,” Harry says, blowing a kiss at the Megan Rapinoe poster on the wall as she walks across the living room with her beer in one hand and laptop in the other. “When’s the next game?”

“Week after next,” Louis answers, taking a swig of beer. “Can you make it? The 28th.”

“I think so,” Harry says, cuddling up to Louis on the couch. “I’ll put it in my work calendar so I don’t forget. I wanna cheer you on from the sidelines.”

“Thank you,” Louis murmurs, kissing the top of Harry’s head. “Hey, how was work today? You were editing photos at the studio, right?”

“Not just any photos,” Harry nods, sitting forward and setting her beer down on the coffee table. “Liam and Sophia’s photos.”

Louis places her beer bottle between her thighs so she can seal clap as Harry opens her laptop.

“No fucking way, do I get to see before they do? Best girlfriend ever.”

“Well, they did make you wear a turquoise dress,” Harry says, navigating to the correct page on her laptop and angling it so Louis can see. “Have at.”

Louis starts to click through the slideshow, going slowly as she admires Harry’s work. She doesn’t know shit about photography but she can tell that Harry is really talented; she loves the way Harry captures scenes in her photos. The slideshow starts with shots of the venue, all set up and ready for guests to arrive, with Milo walking around in the background. Louis smiles when she gets to a slew of getting ready photos, first in the robes and then after everyone got dressed. She’s in basically all of them, but that makes sense; she’s one of Liam’s oldest friends, after all.

There’s none of the palpable tension in the getting ready photos from the other room of bridesmaids that Harry had told her about during the drive home; apparently Sophia and her sister had almost come to blows over Zoe’s chosen hairstyle. Louis clicks through to the photos of the ceremony, admiring the rainbow dresses as the bridesmaids walk up the aisle. It’s not until she gets to the photos during the ceremony that she notices something.

“Baby,” she says, pointing to the screen. “I’m in, like, all of these.”

“You were a bridesmaid,” Harry shrugs. “Of course you’re in the photos.”

“No, baby, look,” Louis insists, angling the laptop and clicking back through the photos. “Look, I’m in every single one. Here, here, here. This one is of the vows, but look – I’m right there in the middle of the photo.”

She turns to look at Harry, who’s flushed an adorable shade of pink from her cheeks to her chest.

“Baby,” Louis squeals, setting their beer bottles aside and pouncing on her girlfriend. “You had a crush on me! That’s so embarrassing!”

Harry shrieks as Louis tickles her sides, finally calling out their safe word (“strawberry”) to make Louis stop. They fall back against the couch cushions, Louis wrapping her arms around Harry.

“Lou, you know I had a crush on you,” Harry laughs, reaching a hand to pinch Louis’ ass. “You had a crush on me, too! We’re dating!”

“More than a crush, if I’m being honest,” Louis says, her heart starting to thud in her chest. She’s kind of surprised that it’s taken her this long to say what she’s about to, but she’s still a little nervous. “I was falling in love with you.”

“Falling?” Harry asks hopefully, her eyebrows raised. “Or–”

“I love you, baby cakes,” Louis says, running her fingers through Harry’s hair and looking into her light green eyes. “I have fallen completely, head over heels, to the fucking moon and back in love with you. I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you, too,” Harry says immediately. “Oh my god, I love you, too. I love you so much, I felt like I was going to burst with it, I–”

Louis interrupts her declaration with a kiss, unable to stop herself. “I love you,” she whispers against Harry’s mouth, just because she can. God, she’s going to be insufferable, telling Harry every chance she gets just how much she loves her. 

“I love you, too,” Harry breathes, “sweet cheeks.”

**Author's Note:**

> I want to link this [ interview](https://www.bitchmedia.org/article/bitch-interview/chani-nicholas-queering-astrology) with Chani Nicholas because I drew heavily from it when writing the Rita character in the natal chart reading scene.
> 
> Please spare a minute to share the [ fic post](https://disgruntledkittenface.tumblr.com/post/615916925180133376/i-must-admit-i-thought-id-like-to-make-you-mine).
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
